In My Veins
by Sapphires And Gold
Summary: Brienne and Jaime reunite at Riverrun only to part again. A year and a half later, he finds himself at Winterfell, preparing to fight for the living by her side. Newest chapters take place mid-season 8. Things get steamy in the later chapters. #BraimeRights
1. IN MY VEINS Book 1, Ch 1: Castle Black

_Nothin' goes as planned_

Her lady had declared that Brienne would travel south. They couldn't risk a raven, and it was too far for Sansa to travel safely herself, even with her brother Jon and that wild man they called Giantsbane by her side. According to Littlefinger, Lady Catelyn's uncle had taken Riverrun back from the Freys and Sansa had insisted that they lean on him for assistance in the battle to come. It would be a long journey - three months all told, but Sansa was determined to reclaim Winterfell.

Brienne had grown accustomed to the North - she enjoyed the embrace of the furs on her shoulders when she walked the castle battlements - even when she was only walking to avoid the giant man from North of the Wall who had made her his would-be conquest. His interest in her was no secret, and the fellows of the Night's Watch had taken to rolling their eyes at him or laughing behind her back - something she was more than accustomed to. Poor Ed had been caught between Tormund's lustful glances and her stolid tolerance more than once. And Podrick had taken to bravely distracting the man on several occasions. Sansa remained amused by his advances but, she had said, only because she knew that Brienne could destroy him if she truly wanted to.

She would miss the cool comfort of the North, but she would not miss that. She had never been subject to such obvious affection and it made her somewhat queasy. Having been teased mercilessly in her youth, she'd never grown into taking compliments well as an adult. One could not truly call the man's efforts complimentary, but they made her no less uncomfortable.

_Everything will break_

She had always been brave in combat, but her inherent mistrust of people's motives had hardened her and made it difficult for her to connect personally. Pod was the nearest thing she had to a close friend having been by her side for two years now, but his praise of her was partly-compulsory as he was her squire, one that had been forced on her no less. The only other living person who had gotten close enough to her to peer beneath the armor, as it were, was Jaime Lannister. She'd not seen him these two years, not since King's Landing. Following Joffrey's murder he'd armed her with his own sword, freshly armored her, and sent her away to fulfill their promise to recover the Stark girls. Brienne had partly fulfilled that promise now in returning Sansa to the North. Arya might still be alive, but she had not been seen since Brienne's defeat of the Hound.

Thinking of Jaime also made her queasy. It made her heart hurt if she was being honest with herself.

Despite their rough beginning with him as her captive marching south after Lady Catelyn had set him free in her charge from Riverrun, he had eventually proven himself to be an honorable man - though his sense of family duty sometimes got in the way of himself. He had lost his hand as a result of defending her. He had then come back to Harrenhal for her, idiotically (abeit, she conceded to herself, bravely) diving into a bear pit with one hand and no weapons. The two of them had then traveled with the ex-maester Qyburn for three weeks on foot. Her armor gone, she'd had no protection from the elements or thieves when they rested in the night, but she'd never felt safer than sleeping back to back with him by the fire. They trusted each other equally - something she'd never experienced before, not even when the ill-fated Renly had appointed her to his Kingsguard, and she had loved him for years before that.

_People say goodbye_

When Jaime had sent her away from the capital, it was as if there were a string connecting them that had snapped and caused her to bleed inwardly at the thought that she would never see him again. It was an exhausting sensation that she spent much of the time trying to ignore.

As Brienne and Podrick prepared to set out with their provisions, she felt the wildling eyeing her. She unconsciously gripped her sword Oathkeeper - Jaime's sword - before nodding to Sansa and Jon and riding out. With any luck when she returned with the Blackfish Tormund would have moved on to some other interest.

_In their own special way_

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Andrew Belle's "In My Veins" (C) 2010.


	2. Book 1, Ch 2: The Road to Riverrun

The Lannister army had been marching for two weeks from King's Landing with Jaime at the head all because some of old Walder Frey's idiot sons had let the Blackfish steal a castle from them. He was sick of fighting other people's battles. Duty to the Lannister bannermen required this of him, duty to his son - the King - had required this of him, and duty to Cersei who was about to stand trial in the capital had required this of him. So much duty, he mused, for so little reward.

He was sure that this was just a distraction orchestrated by the High Sparrow - a way to keep him out of the way during Cersei's trial. As her brother and the head of the Kingsguard, his place should have been by her side, but the King had been very firm, stripping the knight of his position as head of the White Cloaks and sending him off to the mud-infested river lands. He knew that Cersei was to blame in the end, for her troubles as well as his - Tommen had been in her twisted grasp for too long and he had taken on too many of his elder brother's mannerisms of late, not to mention the High Sparrow's influence as instigated by the girl Margaery. Jaime wanted to save him from all that, but he feared it was too late now. He loved his sister, but he was not so blind as to ignore the effect that she had on anyone she dug into - including himself, not anymore.

_All that you rely on_  
_And all that you can fake_

At least Jaime was not alone. On top of the 2000 men he was leading, he'd convinced his steward to come along, and he had Bronn. That was something. The former sellsword was full of complaints and vocal disdain for anyone but himself at all hours, but he and Jaime got along well enough; Bronn had helped Jaime train his left hand with the sword, and they shared an affection for his younger brother Tyrion whom Jaime had helped escape following his disastrous trial by combat. Cersei still believed that Tyrion had killed Joffrey, but Jaime knew Tyrion well enough to know that, had he been the one to murder a son of the brother he loved, he would have admitted it.

Joffrey had been hateful (this Jaime freely admitted despite having been the young King's true father) and had been especially hateful to Tyrion and Tyrion's wife, Sansa Stark. Cersei had done nothing to discourage the boy - quite the opposite. She seemed to thrive on his cruelty as much as he did. When Joffrey was killed, Cersei had called for violence. Sansa had suspiciously enough made her escape even as Joffrey lay convulsing in his mother's arms, and Cersei was offering a knighthood to whomever found her and dragged her back to the capital for punishment. But Jaime wasn't convinced of Sansa's guilt either. She wasn't a killer - yet. Truth be told if she had not escaped when she had, Jaime would have been bound by his oath to find a way to smuggle her out of the capital before harm could come to her - he would not be seen breaking that oath, especially not with his tall towheaded plank of a conscience lurking.

Brienne had been there that day at the bride's invitation. After wishing the newly wedded couple happiness, she had been cornered by Cersei. He'd caught the sight of them standing together and his stomach had sank. He'd not shared anything about Brienne with the queen beyond the fact that she had been sworn to Renly, then Catelyn, and finally tasked with bringing him home, and that she had obviously done so successfully.

He'd never told her about the fever taking him and Brienne carrying him from the baths, he'd never told her about his panicked ride back to Harrenhal after learning that she was in immediate danger, nor his subsequent leap into a bear pit with one hand and no weapon in order to save her; he certainly didn't tell her that he'd lost his hand defending the other woman in the first place. Though he supposed that Cersei's new pet Qyburn could have told her anything - he had been with them from their arrival at Harrenhal all the way to the capital. By now Cersei might've known about everything from the way Lord Bolton had taunted him with news of her after Stannis' attack, to the way he and Brienne had huddled together for warmth and helped care for each other's wounds on the road back to King's Landing. Whatever Cersei had said to Brienne that day had shaken her and she had stalked off to pace the outskirts of the affair.

_Will leave you in the morning_

As his troops continued the march north Jaime called to mind that image of the two of them together - the woman he'd loved his entire life, and the woman who had changed his life - and he remembered being afraid for Brienne. Cersei had looked like a predator toying with her prey - something he might have appreciated had her target been anyone else. When she later started screaming for heads on pikes in the aftermath of Joffrey's death, Jaime's first thought had not been of his brother (whom he'd assumed would get a fair trial if his father didn't put a stop to it before then), but of Brienne. Cersei could not be controlled, which meant lives were in danger. And once she had insulted Brienne to his face and demanded he break his oath to the late Catelyn Stark, he knew it wouldn't be long before she did something irreversible.

Cersei had forced his hand. He would betray his sister and conspire with the Maid of Tarth in order to preserve that oath. He'd had his trusted steward go to the armory and secretly commission new armor for her, to be delivered to him in the White Sword tower where Cersei and her spies never ventured. After finally visiting Tyrion in the dungeons himself, Jaime had then plotted with Bronn to prepare Podrick Payne to squire her, saving two birds with one net as it were. He'd planned on giving her one of the many swords kept in the tower when he unveiled her the armor, but once she was in Keep he realized that none of those swords were worthy of her, save one. He'd picked up the Valyrian steel sword given to him by his father. It had a sister sword that had been gifted to Joffrey on the fateful morning of his wedding. In true Joffrey fashion, he had named it something distasteful and had only brandished it long enough to destroy a priceless book.

He'd handed Brienne his sword as if showing it off before pronouncing that it was now hers. Those blue eyes of hers had gone wide and she'd tried to deny the gift but he'd told her of its origin - how the steel had come from Ned Stark's sword - and she finally accepted, vowing to find Sansa as a promise, now to him. He remembered being taken aback by that look in her eye as she held the sword - he'd seen it before somewhere on the road south with her - that look of imminent tears of unknown origin that never come. He'd helped her suit up, helping as much as he could with tying pieces into place with his hand before escorting her out of the Keep and into the nearby woods where Pod and Bronn had been waiting along with horses and provisions.

_But find you in the day_

Oathkeeper. The name stung at him as its sister pressed his hip during the long march through the rain. Of course she would name that sword something that would torture him.

He'd known that sending her away was right - even if Sansa was dead already, which he acknowledged had been a very reasonable assumption at that point, Brienne couldn't stay. It was too dangerous and he'd spent enough time protecting her, he wasn't about to allow the threat to come from his own door. But watching her leave, believing he'd never see her again - a woman who had spun his life around and made him see the deceit and corruption that he'd been blind to for so long - it was too much. He'd seen his eldest son die violently not long before, but that was a mere shade of the loss and worry he felt watching her ride away; without thinking he had started to follow her through the woods on foot. She'd looked back just once, catching his eye long enough to prove that they were both feeling the same loss. If his steward hadn't caught a glance from Bronn and acted as quickly as he had, Jaime might still be walking the path behind her horse to this day, wherever she was.

Instead he found himself on the road back to Riverrun, where he and Brienne had first met.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Andrew Belle's "In My Veins" (C) 2010.


	3. Book 1, Ch 3: The Hill

They hadn't expected to see a well-formed army in their path. The Freys were not known for their organizational strengths or appearance, and Brienne had anticipated being able to avoid them altogether. But when she had spotted the tops of the tents from a mile away, she knew that was no longer an option. This was not a desperate Frey assault, it was a Lannister siege. The color of the tents had given it away from afar but until they'd reached the top of the hill, she'd held out hope that it was some other collective of bannermen. But once she beheld the full scope of their numbers and spied the lion banners, that hope was gone, replaced by a familiar tightness in her stomach that she'd so often suppressed.

_Oh you're in my veins_

"It looks like a siege, my lady." Podrick. After all this time, an astute observer of the obvious. "You have a keen military mind, Pod," she'd said in a voice laced with irony as she scanned the camp, wondering whether she would be able to spy a familiar face in the melee. She'd spent time with some of Jaime's troops while recovering in the capital - it was possible that she would know someone down there whom she might press for admittance to the castle.

Lord Tywin, she knew, had been killed by the imp when he had escaped the city over a year ago. She thought it unlikely that Lord Tyrion had escaped on his own, and on hearing the news she had suspected the elder Lannister brother of being involved. Tyrion had run out of friends in the capital quickly after Joffrey's death, but his brother could have been persuaded if the situation were dire. If he had been, that would also mean that he'd been complicit in the death of his father.

_And I cannot get you out_

She had thought back to the night Lady Catelyn had released him to her custody at Riverrun; he had been all but resigned to his death at the hands of the Karstarks, and had spit in the Lady's face, going on about honor and duty. Brienne knew him well enough now to observe that he hadn't been taunting the woman to be cruel as she perceived in the moment - he'd done it seeking a quick death, to avoid a more violent one at the hands of her son's bannermen. In the midst of it, something had clicked for Lady Stark that altered Jaime's fate - a point that he'd made had changed her course.

_Oh you're all I taste_

He'd said that one could make vows to one's king and family but once they're at odds, honor meant choosing one over the other. In the end, Catelyn would betray her son and king in an effort to save her daughters by letting the Kingslayer go home. It was not impossible to imagine that Jaime could have made a similar choice, but at what cost? And with Lord Tywin dead and Jaime serving on Tommen's Kingsguard, who was leading this siege?

_At night inside of my mouth_

She didn't have to wait for an answer. The rider cantered from the muddy gates of Riverrun into the camp. He was far enough away still to not be able to make out all the details of his face in the early morning light, but she knew his stance on a horse and the way his armor broadened his shoulders. And as he dismounted she was pleased to see that he had perfected that motion without the use of a right hand. It had been two years, plenty of time to practice. Or perhaps time to change.

_Oh you run away_

So focused on his arrival was she that she didn't hear her squire's warnings; before she knew it, they were surrounded by a small host of Lannister scouts who'd ridden up the hill behind them. Finally tearing her eyes from the camp she glanced at the scouts, all unfamiliar to her, and gripped her reins, resisting the urge to grasp Oathkeeper, a move which might have been deadly. Straightening her back and lifting her chin Pod observed that she looked like the noblewoman she was but so rarely embodied.

_'Cause I am not what you found_

"My name is Brienne of Tarth. Please inform Ser Jaime Lannister I've come to speak with him." Pod was startled, unsure whether she was bluffing. Catching her eye he could see that she was dead serious - the effect of Ser Jaime on Lady Brienne was a consistent one. "Tell him I have his sword." The scouts looked skeptically at one another as Brienne stared down the hill. Pod hoped that her words would be enough to grant them safe passage.

_Oh you're in my veins_

She hadn't expected to see Jaime after all this time, especially not back here where they'd begun. His name in her mouth tasted like tears and wine. As they trotted down the hill flanked by the scouts, she prayed to all the gods that he would still be the man that she had left in King's Landing - if so, he would be the one to ensure that she got access to the Blackfish and fulfilled her mission. The captain of the scouts rode ahead and made for Jaime's tent. If he wasn't the same man...the knot in her stomach tightened.  
_  
And I cannot get you out_

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Andrew Belle's "In My Veins" (C) 2010.


	4. Book 1, Ch 4: The Parlay

_Everything will change_

Feeling defeated, Jaime mounted his horse and returned to the camp. If the Blackfish would not budge, the only thing left would be to attack, and that was not an order he was prepared to give, even if duty to his king commanded it. Perhaps if he could convince Edmure to work with him, they might avoid that. He'd seen to it that the true lord of Riverrun was bathed and sheltered - better treatment than he himself had received from the Lord's kin from the North - and maybe he could use that. As a true lord of Riverrun, Edmure might be able to convince the guards at the castle to open the gates to him. But what then? The Blackfish would surely not go down without a fight.

_Nothin' stays the same_

Arriving at the tent, he dismounted and entered with a heavy sigh. His steward looked up from the corner and rose to meet him to assist with his armor. "When will this be over?" he asked rhetorically as the steward untied the straps at the elbows. "No luck, Ser?" "No, Daven, I'm afraid we may be in for a bit of a mess. I know that's not what you signed up for when I dragged you on this trip." "It's alright, Ser Jaime. I'll be proud to aid you if this goes to battle. Better someone you can trust than a green squire who's all thumbs." Jaime grinned, "Agreed." The steward removed the strap at Jaime's right shoulder and began arranging the armor on the stand in the corner.

He did trust Daven. He was one of the only people that Jaime had allowed to touch his arm since losing the hand. Qyburn had treated him - torture though it was, Brienne had helped with wrapping it on their journey from Harrenhal, and Bronn of course had pulled the new hand off of him while sparring once or twice. Cersei had never adjusted to it, not even once the golden hand had been fitted to him. Daven was the person he relied on most to ensure that the straps were tight and that his armor would not knock it loose. The steward had never shied from it or treated him differently for it, and that earned him Jaime's trust. He could have come to the riverlands with a squire, but he was aggravated with the situation enough as it was and, if his hand had fallen off at the parlay with the Blackfish that squire would not last long.

_And nobody here's perfect_

The parlay - yes the parlay had not gone well at all. The old goat was almost the most stubborn person he'd ever met, and would not concede even with the life of his nephew threatened. Jaime would never harm Edmure or Brynden Tully as a condition of the oath he'd sworn to Lady Catelyn, and it was as if the old man knew this and saw right through him. Damn his conscience.

Jaime sat down at the table, still half armored, and let out a long breath. Since when had his conscience been so loud, he wondered, putting his remaining hand to his temple. Daven turned back to face him and approached. "Are you alright, Ser?" "Yes." Jaime half-growled, "just a splitting headache." He'd done enough talking for the morning - he liked the steward, but right now he very much wanted to be alone with the thoughts that were creeping in. "Leave me, I'll- " he looked down at the armor still covering his left arm and chest "I'll take care of this. Send a messenger to Lothar Frey and let him know I'll want to speak with Lord Tully this afternoon." "Very good, Ser Jaime." The steward looked concerned for the knight, but he did as he was told and exited the tent. Jaime sighed and leaned back, thankful for what little peace he could buy himself."

_Oh but everyone's to blame_

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Andrew Belle's "In My Veins" (C) 2010.


	5. Book 1, Ch 5: Fire

Dismissed by Ser Jaime in the midst of his duties, Daven stepped out of the tent and breathed in the cool morning air while cataloguing his next tasks - message to the Freys, see to the horses, make sure that everyone leaves Ser Jaime alone for a few hours. He chuckled at this - if Ser Bronn was around, he would barge in regardless. Not wholly unwelcome, but he didn't want to be there to see it if Ser Jaime's mood hadn't improved.

Turning East, he saw dust rising along the road that led from the hill that overlooked the camp. In the morning light, the sun's rays made the dust almost glitter. It must be the river scouts returning he thought. But as the horses got closer he realized that the numbers didn't match - six had left three days before, and now there were eight including one who was riding faster, ahead of the group, and the ones in the middle did not carry the Lannister sigil, or any sigil for that matter. One of them - his eyes went wide.

He knew that armor; he had commissioned that armor secretly at the request of Ser Jaime. He recalled getting strange glances from the armorers when he specified the dimensions and the color - they'd never fitted anyone for blue armor before, and they seemed suspicious about the measurements but they'd been paid off accordingly and the secret, as far as Daven knew, had been kept safe - at least long enough for her to get away from the capital. And now that same armor was riding in this direction, he was sure of it.

As the group crossed the perimeter of the camp, the sun rose just enough above the hill from whence they'd come to highlight the blue rider's bright yellow hair with a firey glow. There was no question - Brienne of Tarth was here.

The steward nearly tripped over himself and rushed back into the tent. Ser Jaime had leaned back in his chair but had not yet moved from his spot at the war table, half armored. The knight was startled and annoyed by his steward's reappearance, and alarmed by his demeanor. "What is it?" he spat.

"My Lord the river scouts are returning and -" "On time for once," Jaime interrupted. "No wonder, there aren't many brothels between here and the Twins, though-" "Ser Jaime!" The leader of the Lannister army was startled to silence by his steward's interruption and dropped his good arm to the table with an audible thud.

"There's a woman with them." "They stole a woman? ""No." Daven was exasperated now, which did not improve Jaime's mood, "My lord they ride for the camp and I believe..." Jaime stood and looked at the squire expectantly. "Yes?" "Lady Brienne is with them."

_All that you rely on_

Jaime's jaw dropped and his face seemed to sink inward. This was the last thing he had expected to hear. His mind reeled - Why was she here? How? What were the scouts doing with her? Had she been hurt? At this, he picked up his sword and belted it around him. "Where?" "They'll be here any moment my lord."

Jaime rushed out of the tent ahead of the steward, nearly barreling into a soldier who had been approaching. It was the captain of the scouts who had ridden ahead to alert Ser Jaime to their visitors. Jaime ignored the captain's shouts of "My lord!" and began scouring the throng of soldiers, finally catching sight of her. Her back was to him just as it had been the last time he'd seen her. And just like that last time, he unconsciously began walking toward her as if being reeled in on a line. The captain trailing behind him "My lord, there is - " "Yes, yes, I see, dismissed!" he shouted angrily without tearing his eyes from her.

_And all that you can save_

The captain stood dumbly as Jaime walked away from him. The other scouts had already dismounted and were standing around while their quarry saw to their horses. They witnessed their commander's dismissal of the captain and disbanded as Jaime approached, his mouth half-open in shock, his damp eyes glued to the woman he thought he'd never see again. The sun had risen and everything seemed to be on fire save for her. The cool blue of the armor was like an oasis.

On the other side of her horse, Podrick Payne turned around and spied the leader of the Lannister army, the man who'd helped him escape harm in the capital, and grinned before offering a low bow. But Jaime didn't see him. He walked until he was within arms length of her as she watered her horse and stroked its mane, ignorant that he was close as he was. Suddenly he realized that his headache was gone.

_Will leave you in the morning_  
_And find you in the day_

"Brienne."

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Andrew Belle's "In My Veins" (C) 2010.


	6. Book 1, Ch 6: Ice

He'd whispered so quietly and so closely to her that at first she thought she had imagined hearing her name.

_Oh you're in my veins_

But then she realized that the knot in her stomach was gone. Her arms dropped to her sides and she spun around to find him close.

"Jai...Ser Jaime." She offered a nod in greeting. She could see that he was confused to see her, his eyes shimmering as he squinted at her against the sun. When he didn't break their eye contact, she swallowed and stared back at him. He took a step forward nearly closing the distance between them. He was very close now, and she found herself unable to move as he held her gaze. For a moment she thought him about to embrace her, but instead his left hand moved into the space between them, capturing hers and held it firmly in what might have seemed to anyone else like a platonic greeting.

After several moments, knowing that others were watching, he released her hand and blinked before cocking his head slyly at her with that teasing grin he'd not used in so long, "Returning to Riverrun to put me in irons again, my Lady?"

She met his grin - "Not this time." He scowled and then turned to Pod - "Podrick Payne." He shook his head in disbelief and embraced his arm as Brienne watched. "I have to say I'm delighted to see you alive," turning to Brienne "after all this time." Brienne cast her eyes downward, avoiding the reprise of his gaze. He turned back to Pod

"Where have you come from?" "Castle Black, My Lord" he said. Jaime's eyebrows hit his scalp as he looked at Brienne. "Really? A long journey...he pulled his eyes from Brienne who was now giving a reprimanding look to her squire.

"Pod, have you eaten?" "No, My Lord." "Why don't you go feed yourself. Daven?!" The steward appeared having been observing from a distance. "Daven, see to it that this man gets a meal." "Yes, My Lord." Then turning to Brienne to excuse himself, "My Lady." She nodded and watched Podrick follow the steward around the corner of a row of tents and disappear." Jaime turned back to face her. "As you can see I was - he looked down at the armor he was still wearing - "in the midst of something when your arrival was announced." Brienne panicked, "We can go." Jaime looked at her curiously, "No no, come, please." And he turned and headed for his tent. He hoped rather than knew that she would follow him.

On entering the tent, Jaime immediately started trying to finish what Daven had started. Removing his sword and belt was an easy enough task, but when he pulled at the strap on his left shoulder holding his armor in place, he found it in a knot. "Damnit, Daven," he muttered to himself. He was facing away from Brienne as she entered the tent and now as he chased the knot around his body he found himself facing her looking quite disheveled.

"Might I?" she asked gently. He looked resigned and nodded, "Some things are taking more time than others" he said, mostly referring to things he couldn't do with his missing right hand. She gave him a small grin that didn't reach her eyes and approached, brow furrowed, and set to work undoing the knot. She was so close. He couldn't help but watch her face while she worked on him.

_And I cannot get you out_

But before he could lose himself in her eyes, she'd stepped away and taken the armor with her. She set it on the stand across the tent with the rest. Immediately he felt the air cool in the space between them. The silence was too much for him now.

"What were you doing at the wall?" Brienne hesitated and considered her answer. "After I left King's Landing we followed traces of the Stark girls - rumors, mostly. But they proved true. We found Arya-" "Arya's alive?" Jaime was shocked. "Perhaps." At his puzzled look she continued holding the sword at her side as she spoke,"I begged her to come with me but she suspected that I was not to be trusted." "You...?" Jaime was beside himself. Who wouldn't trust this woman? "She ran off when the man she was traveling with confronted me." "What man?" She took a breath. "Sandor Clegane." He was awestruck. The earth spun and Jaime rocked back on his heels, his jaw on the ground. He held onto the table for fear he would fall. "You fought the Hound?" She nodded modestly. This woman was a marvel. He respected her abilities, but the Hound? How was she still alive? How did she have all her limbs still? He looked at each one in turn to ensure that they were all there, and all hers.

"We found Sansa with Lord Baelish," she said with some distaste. Jaime raised his chin and looked to the sky. So that was how Sansa had gotten away. Had Baelish had something to do with Joffrey's murder then? When he met Brienne's eyes again, she seemed deeply troubled. "Please go on." "She didn't trust me, either but we followed them North at a distance. Eventually we were able to get her to safety, but not before Littlefinger had sold her off to Lord Bolton's bastard."

Jaime's eyes dimmed as he remembered their time at Harrenhal with Lord Bolton, a cruel man by all accounts, one who had nearly gotten Brienne killed at the hands of his lackeys. The same man who had betrayed the Young Wolfe to the Freys and gotten the Stark family slaughtered. How inconceivably cruel that Sansa should find herself tied to that family. If reports were to be believed, his bastard was even worse than his father. Had they been in his care, one of them might have wound up being fed to the other. Jaime shuddered.

"Ramsay is an impossibly cruel man," Brienne continued, "but Sansa is safe now." He turned her eyes back to her in wonder. How much she had accomplished apart from him. In two years, what had he done? He'd helped his brother escape which had gotten his father killed, he'd sailed to Dorne only to have his daughter die in his arms, and he'd been pulled from the Kingsguard to settle petty disputes. And all the while she had been working tirelessly to fulfill the oath that they had both sworn.

"I can't believe it," he said quietly. "I never thought you'd find her. I'd just assumed Sansa was dead," he was saying, almost to himself. When he'd sent her away from King's Landing it had been for her safety, he'd never imagined -

_Oh you're all I taste_

She was beside herself. He'd sent her away from the capital with a promise to find Sansa. If he hadn't believed that Sansa was alive, why bother? Did he mean that he didn't think she'd have been able to protect her when she did find her? "Why would you assume that?" she asked defensively.

He started - he didn't want her thinking he'd meant any offense to her ability to protect someone. After all, she'd protected him better than most. "In my experience, girls like her don't live very long" he stated apologetically.

Brienne paused. This felt like the old Jaime, the one she believed had been left behind at Harrenhal. The knot in her stomach loomed again. She took a breath. "I don't think you know many girls like her."

He hated the look on her face in this moment. He'd never thought to see her again, and now she was here but she seemed to hate him. Just like old times, really. The familiarity was almost worth it. But he knew he'd managed to offend her somehow, and if she turned on her heel now he might never see her again - truly this time.

"Well I'm proud of you," he blurted out. The statement caught both of them off-guard. She looked away, nearly blushing. But he could not stop looking at her, drinking her in.

_At night inside of my mouth_

"I am, you fulfilled your oath to Catelyn Stark against all odds." She looked away again, sensitive to the fact that he was paying her a compliment.

But at what cost, he wondered. The Stark girls lived while two of his children were dead. "Of course my sister wants Sansa dead." He started around the table toward her. "The girl's still a suspect in Joffrey's murder so there is that...complication." He was standing very close now. She stared him down, but she could see that he was searching for something in her eyes - he would not use the information to betray her to his sister, but what else he wanted she could not tell. He was watching her, waiting for her to pick up the banter, fight him, hit him, anything. But all he got was her icy stare and he couldn't stand it. He dropped his shoulders and his voice, "What the hell are you doing here?"

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Andrew Belle's "In My Veins" (C) 2010.


	7. Book 1, Ch 7: Duty

"I've come for the Blackfish." He shrugged, "You're welcome to have him." "Lady Sansa desires to take her ancestral seat back from the Boltons and assume her rightful position as Lady of Winterfell."

Jaime's eyes dropped, realizing that he'd hit a nerve with Brienne and she was closed off to him now - she had slipped away into formality - a tone he didn't care for between the two of them. But two could play at this game. Jaime raised his eyes to her, "With what army does she plan on taking Winterfell?" "The Tully army," she said firmly. He could tell she was angry now, which just made him more heated. "They're a bit occupied at the moment. I was sent here to reclaim Riverrun currently defended by the Tully rebels, so you could see the conundrum."

Brienne looked at him askance, "The Tullys are rebels because they're fighting for their home...?" "Riverrun was granted to the Freys by royal decree-" Her frustration was turning her pink now, she could feel it at her neck and he could see it; she could barely look at him, "-as a reward for betraying Robb Stark and slaughtering his family!"

"Exactly." He'd said a bit too firmly.

Brienne looked wounded and he immediately felt ashamed. He didn't care about the Tullys or the Freys or even the Starks. It was selfish of him to engage her in this way when the stakes were clearly higher for her than for him. And he couldn't stand the disappointed look in her eyes.

So that's it, then, she thought. He was hiding behind who he thought he was. But perhaps if he was not willing to do the right thing he might still allow her.

"We shouldn't argue about politics" he conceded and turned away, hoping to move on, but she wouldn't let it go. He should have expected that.

"You're a knight, Ser Jaime," she said, trying to appeal to him but getting under his skin as he sighed at the title. "I know there is honor in you - I've see it myself-" "I'm a Lannister." He said sharply, "Don't ask me to betray my own house." He could barely meet her eye now. She certainly knew how to dig at him and lay him bare for beating. "I do no such thing" she said as she approached the table that now separated them. He almost reeled at the intoxicating effect of her eyes staring him down as she took the plunge -

"Take Riverrun without bloodshed. Ride south again with your mission complete and your army intact." Whether she was advising him or making a request now, Jaime was not sure, but she was impressively commanding. "What do you propose?" "Allow me to enter Riverrun under a flag of truce." He nearly rolled his eyes. Was she mad? The Blackfish had already proven that he was unwilling to treat for peace. "Let me try to persuade the Blackfish to give up the castle."

"Why would he abandon his ancestral home?" Did she really think that he'd not tried this route yet?

"Because you'll allow him to lead the Tully forces safely north." He stared at Brienne in recognition - so that was it - she wanted him to grant the rebels passage away from the siege keeping his promise to the Freys but also keeping his oath to Catelyn Stark intact and doing right by Sansa. Even when she was angry with him she was dedicated to keeping him honorable. This plan wouldn't do much for his reputation, but what did he care for his reputation? She was recommending a real truce. He sighed. Of course she would fill the gaps in his thinking. Then again, he was almost certain it couldn't work. The old man was immovable.

"Have you ever met the Blackfish?" She thought a moment, "No." "He's even more stubborn than you are." She had to know that her stubbornness was one of the things he admiredmost about her. It was what had saved him after he'd lost his hand when she told him he needed to live in order to take revenge on the ones who'd hurt them. It was what had saved her in the bear pit, too. Yes, he had flung himself in after her, but if she had not been so dedicated to irritating that bear by remaining alive there would have been no one for him to jump in for. She seemed uncertain of his comment, unable to take it as either a slight or a compliment. Rather than risk wounding her further he quickly moved on.

"Alright, try to talk some sense into the old goat. He won't listen but," he looked at her. He was worried that she might not make it out of the castle, that the Blackfish might do something rash, and he could not bear the thought of that being his fault… "his men might. Not everyone wants to die for someone else's home." She understood that he was trying to caution her. But her duty to Sansa was stronger than her duty to herself. She would not run away now.

Brienne took a step in his direction. "I need your word. If I persuade him to abandon the castle, you'll grant us safe passage north." Her hands were fisted by her side. She seemed to still be fighting him even though he'd given up the game. He hadn't even considered her safety being in his hands at this point - he was still worried about what might go on behind the castle walls once she was inside. "You have my word," …always, he nearly added. She was perhaps the only person in the world who ever accepted him at his word these days. "You have until nightfall" he said, looking at the light outside the tent flaps, trying to estimate the time.

She took the glance as a dismissal and her strength failed her. She hated this. Her face fell as she nodded. She'd never expected to see Jaime again but now that she was here and had saved Sansa, it was only right that she return the sword he'd given her for that job. With any luck, she would not need it anymore. She took a breath and willed her fists to open, looked down at her belt and began to pull the loops out.

At first he thought she was trying to tighten the belt, but when the first strap came loose he realized his error. She was trying to return the sword - the twin to his own. He looked at her face and tried to catch her eye but she was focused on the task at hand. She loosened the sword and held it out to him, the golden lion shining in the light, and seemed to will herself to meet his eye. He looked at it and stepped toward her, the sword almost against his chest. He looked at the lion and then to her and meeting the defeat in her eyes he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. How was it possible for so honorable a person to exist? And how had he fallen so far away from deserving her friendship? He hung his head and studied the ground.

_Oh you're in my veins_

"You gave it to me for a purpose," she started. His eyes darted to hers - there she was wrong; the purpose had been a lie. Truly Jaime had given Brienne the sword because she deserved it, and because so long as she wielded it, it was as if he had a part in protecting her. After she'd left King's Landing the shelf in the White Sword tower wasn't the only thing left empty. There'd been a hole in his center for months afterward.

"I have achieved that purpose" she said firmly. He smiled sadly and looked from her to the sword and back again, meeting her eyes. How could she not realize her own brilliance? "It's yours." She faltered and he relished the change in her eyes. He could not stand to say goodbye to her again. "It will always be yours." She wasn't sure that he meant the sword, but she couldn't bear to look him in the eye any longer. She pulled the sword back and looped the strap. She felt tears threatening to escape so she turned from him; she had to get out of that tent.

He felt the bond between them pulling him and he followed right on her heels knowing she must go, but not wanting to have that much space between them, not yet. He couldn't allow his last memory of her to be of her running from him. He felt his own tears start to form.

As Brienne made her escape a terrible thought occurred to her. If she went into that castle and the Lannisters attacked, it would pit her and Jaime against one another. The only other time she'd fought him had been on that bridge before they were captured by Locke, before it all. They could spar verbally but in a physical fight she knew that they were both better than before – they'd made each other stronger. There was no telling how they might fare one on one now, and the thought of it make her ill. She spun on her heel to find that he'd been right behind her - they were closer than ever now.

"One last thing, Ser Jaime." So back to titles, he thought, fine, "Yes...Lady Brienne" he said with that sarcastic tone he had reserved for teasing her, trying to draw out her smile one last time. But she was clearly somewhere darker now.

"Should I fail to persuade the Blackfish to surrender..." she waited for him to fill in the gaps but he only stared into her eyes, "And you attack the castle..." That seemed to get his attention a little bit, "Honor compels me to fight for Sansa's kin." "Of course it does" he said in that same tone, almost automatically, not taking care to realize what that might mean. "To fight you."

He swallowed - she was serious. Suddenly the gravity of it all - the stakes that she had so clearly realized long before him - it was all terribly clear. If they ever met in the field, she would surely best him. He was better than before, but she had always been the superior swordsman – though he would never admit that to her. But that was beside the point. He could not fight her. If it weren't for duty he would promote Podrick Payne to leader of the Lannister forces and take his place as squire to Brienne of Tarth for the rest of his life right now. But duty, there was. Suddenly the worry crept into his throat - his troops would not stand down if she fought back. He might not fight her, but she might still get hurt in the siege. The headache had returned.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." He tried to convey every regret and every wish he had to her in that moment. She stared at him, unblinking, tears welling in her eyes. With a final twitch of her brows, she ran from the tent. Jaime watched her go, then pulled the tent flaps closed, leaving him in darkness as the first tears fell.

_And I cannot get you out_

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Andrew Belle's "In My Veins" (C) 2010.


	8. Book 1, Ch 8: The Oath

After locating Pod and a brief encounter with Ser Bronn of the Blackwater over some cold chicken, Brienne returned to her horse and was greeted there by the steward Daven.

"I was surprised to see you so far from the capital, Daven." The steward nodded and smiled. "It was important for Ser Jaime to have someone he trusted with him on this trip. And there are terrible things happening in King's Landing right now. I'd rather be here than risking my life there." He seemed to carry a great sadness when he said this and Brienne found his turn of phrase curious. She had no idea what was happening in the capital, but obviously there had been a great many things she did not understand. They'd been traveling for some time and avoiding the roads, and prior to that they'd been in the all-but forgotten North. So she'd had no news of anything for some time, but Jaime had not hinted at anything strange. "What's happened?"

Daven hesitated and then looked up as two birds flew over their heads, low in the sky. "Dark wings, dark words," he observed. He looked back at her and cocked his head. "I know that you plan to treat with the Blackfish." "Yes, it's important that I see him." Daven nodded and licked his bottom lip, cautious. "Did Ser Jaime tell you that he'd already tried?" Brienne was taken aback. "No, he didn't." "Did he caution you against it?" Brienne thought back - Jaime had said many things to her, some of them less feeling than others. "He said that the Blackfish was stubborn, but I'm hopeful that a request from his neice's daughter will be received differently than a request from the head of King Tommen's Kingsguard."

Daven took a deep breath and met her gaze. "My Lady, Ser Jaime no longer serves on the Kingsguard." Brienne knitted her brows at the steward who, she acknowledged, was likely overstepping the bounds of his position. Her eyes darted to the commander's tent, then back to Daven. "What do you mean?" she whispered. "King Tommen removed him and sent him here. He told Ser Jaime that he was no longer fit to serve. Did you..." he considered the next thing he said very carefully, "Ser Jaime has lost quite a bit in the last several years." Brienne nodded as he continued, "After King Joffrey's death and after you'd gone, Lord Tyrion escaped and killed Lord Tywin...Ser Jaime blames himself." Brienne's breathing was suddenly shallow and her stomach felt like it might burst. "Then when the princess was lost, he threw himself into his duties." Brienne's eyes went wide but Daven continued, "My lady, it's as if he has nothing left."

_Everything is dark_

Brienne's eyes they bore into Daven. "Myrcella?" she said, her voice pitched higher than usual. The steward nodded sadly. "An act of war from Sunspear. Retribution for Prince Oberyn's death." Brienne gasped and looked back at the tent. Gods, no wonder he'd been so cold at her mention of the Stark girls. He'd loved that girl best of all. Brienne glanced at the sky. She still had a quarter of a day to speak to the Blackfish and convince him to leave Riverrun with her. She could afford the delay.

"Does Ser Jaime remain in his tent?" "Yes, my lady." Daven took a step back, nodding. "I'm sure you would be welcome. Shall I announce you?" Brienne considered - if Daven went before her, Jaime would know that his state of mind had been betrayed by one of his most trusted allies, albeit with his best interests in mind. If she went alone, Daven might be spared censure. "There will be no need. I shall announce myself. Thank you, Daven." She touched his arm and held his gaze. Daven nodded. "I trust you'll still need an escort to the castle?" Wise man. He knew that she would speak with the Blackfish regardless, that this was only a delay in the interest of caring for their mutual friend. Brienne nodded and walked slowly back to the lion's den.

Only one of the flaps was open now, letting just enough light in for Brienne to spy Jaime sitting in a corner, lost in his thoughts as she approached the tent. Reaching the entry way, she blocked much of the light, drawing Jaime's attention. At the sight of her, he shot up out of his daze, his brow drawn. He'd thought her long-gone by now, sealed up in the castle with an uncertain fate. Yet there she was standing before him, haloed in light. "What is it, what's happened?"

She felt a tear threatening to roll down her face. He seemed broken - more so even than after losing his hand. As he moved toward the light she could see that his eyes were raw and exhaustion seemed to have set in to the other muscles of his face. Her voice was quiet. "Jaime, why didn't you tell me?" Puzzled, he moved closer. He didn't think he'd ever heard her use his name alone before. "Why didn't you tell me you had already tried with the Blackfish?" He sighed, shaking his head. "The old man is a fool. There's no telling how a few hours might affect a fool's opinions on things. You might have better luck than me. You have Sansa," he shrugged and turned away. "I think we both know that's not it."

He spun back to her, blinking against the light. What did she know, he thought, what had she been told? And who, he thought darkly, had told her? "What do you want me to say? That I failed? Does it please you to hear me admit that? Ser Jaime Lannister - Kingslayer, oathbreaker, man without honor failed in treating with an overripe cod! I have failed every single person in my life, does that satisfy you?" He turned angrily back to the dark, not wanting to see the disappointment in her face. She must have moved closer to him because her voice was nearer when she spoke again, in a whisper. "I'm so sorry about Myrcella."

His face crumbled and he hung his head. Without thinking, she reached out and put her hand on his right shoulder, and the contact, even through the jerkin, was too much - before he knew it his body was wracked with sobs and he had reached up with his good hand to cover hers, his back to her. How is it that this woman had such an effect on him? She wanted to hold him, to comfort him. When he had reached up and held her hand to him she could feel as if she was on fire. "Jaime."

_It's more than you can take_

He turned back to her slowly, holding onto her wrist, his face wet. She looked down at his hand holding onto her and met his eyes. "You have never failed me." He could see the path of her tears down her own face and it was all he could do to resist reaching up and brushing them away. Instead he lifter her hand to his lips and brushed her knuckles. He released her hand and she steadied herself in his eyes. "But what if I do?" He asked hoarsely. "You won't. If I do not succeed with the Blackfish, that is my own burden. If I fail, do not take it on yourself." "And if he or his men harm you? What about my soldiers when we take the castle, what then? No doubt you would best all of them in a fair fight, but they don't always fight fair." She cocked her head, "then you'll need to live to take revenge."

He took a deep breath. If she only knew how those words of hers had driven him for years now. "But it will still not be your failure." He closed his eyes and all he could picture was the sight of her bleeding in that bear pit and the helplessness he felt when Locke would not pull her out. He had not failed her then. He could not fail her now. "If it doesn't go well, I will do everything in my power to ensure that the castle is taken peacefully." She nodded, "Thank you."

She tore her eyes from his face and turned to go. "Brienne." She paused and half-turned, looking back at him, gripping Oathkeeper at her side. His mouth turned up at one corner at the sight of it. "Be careful." She swallowed and nodded. "Goodbye, Jaime."

And she was gone.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Andrew Belle's "In My Veins" (C) 2010.


	9. Book 1, Ch 9: The Blackfish

Brienne's parlay with had been no more successful than Jaime's. He'd been right - the man was stubborn to a fault. And suspicion must have run straight from the Tully line because just as Arya and Sansa had been wary of her, so too was their mother's uncle.

"We can stand longer than your one-handed friend thinks we can," he'd argued with her. Automatically she had replied "He's not my friend." He was so much more, but at the risk of her own life she couldn't betray that to the Blackfish.

Ser Brynden had stopped and turned back to her, stunned at her words. "Oh no? Who gave you permission to cross the siege line and enter the castle? Who gave you that sword with the gold lion on the pommel?" Brienne knew she was in danger now and gripped the sword. If the Blackfish did not believe her motives, then at best she would be in the castle dungeons when the Lannisters attacked; at worst, Jaime would be avenging her death. The only way through this was to convince Ser Brynden of her loyalty to his family, even if it meant lying about the purity of Jaime's motives.

_But you catch a glimpse of sun light_

"Ser Jaime kept his word to your niece, Catelyn Stark. He sent me to find Sansa and help her as Catelyn wanted. He gave me this sword to protect her. That is what I have done and I will continue to do until the day I die."

The Blackfish was silenced by her words then, and had taken the letter from her. For a moment as he read it there was hope. But his stubbornness won out. His priorities were with his home, not anyone else's. Not everyone wants to die for someone else's home, Jaime had said to her. He would not abandon Riverrun. Brienne's duty required that she stand by him whatever decision he made, not that she had a choice. If the Blackfish still suspected her of being a spy for the Lannisters, he would have her killed before allowing her to leave the castle.

He'd left Brienne and Podrick standing in the yard. Pulling Pod aside, Brienne urged him to find the maester and convince him to send a raven North to the wall. There was a risk that the message would be intercepted by Ramsay's men, but what else could they do? "What should I write?" Brienne could only think of Jaime, knowing that the Tullys were ready to fight for their lives, concerned that this might put him over the edge of the cliff he'd been standing on. She closed her eyes. "Tell her I failed."

_Shinin', shinin' down on your face  
__On your face_  
_Oh your face_

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Andrew Belle's "In My Veins" (C) 2010.


	10. Book 1, Ch 10: The Bridge

Jaime had been avoiding his visit to the Frey camp all day. He didn't like them, and he especially did not like that he was here doing their dirty work. He approached the camp and the sight of their sigil - two grey towers connected by a bridge - almost made him chuckle. The house words "we stand together" were a joke. The Freys loved infighting almost as much as they loved betrayal. If left alone in a room together, Lothar Frey and his brother Walder would murder each other over which side of a table to dine on. He was not looking forward to this in the least.

He and Bronn had sat in the Lannister camp until long-past sundown watching the sky behind Riverrun shift from blue to yellow to crimson and then to black. He'd told Brienne that she could have until nightfall to persuade the Blackfish, and he was not going to budge - he at least owed her that. Even with the Freys screaming for action, he would not be moved. Bronn had looked at him pitiably once the stars had begun to come out and their breath could be seen in the cool darkness. She had failed, and now it was up to Jaime to make good on his promise. "Well, that's that." Jaime frowned. Bronn didn't have many social graces, let alone tact. He looked sidelong at the former sellsword. "Yes, it would appear to be...that."

Bronn sensed Jaime's discomfort and looked him full in the face. "Y'know she's fine." "What?"

_Oh you're in my veins_

Bronn rolled his eyes. "Ya lady. She kin hold 'er own." Jaime looked at him askance. "She's not my lady." "No, you'd rather fuck a mirror, wouldn't ya?" Jaime scowled and stared at the sky. "If they were gonna kill'er, she'd be hangin from the top'a th' bloody bell tower by now. So she's either escaped and non'a these cunts've noticed, or she's waitin' for you to come and beat down th' door. So what's th' plan?" Jaime swallowed and stared at the top of the castle. He knew they were being watched, but he couldn't tell by how many. There was only one way to do this honorably - he would need to lie. "I need to see Edmure."

Jaime nodded to the men standing guard outside the tent where Lord Edmure Tully was being kept. The prisoner was not happy to see him. Jaime tried first to go the easy route, but he should have known that Lady Catelyn's brother would not delight in his promises of freedom and a happy life for his family. Lord Edmure was least inclined of anyone to take Jaime at his word. Had the Lord simply ignored him, Jaime might have found some middle ground. But Tully took the low road and said something that Jaime would remember for the rest of his life.

"Tell me, I want to know," he implored, "I truly do. How do you live with yourself?" This struck Jaime to the heart and he looked away while Edmure continued, "All of us have to believe that we're decent, don't we? You have to sleep at night. How do you tell yourself that you're decent after everything that you've done?" His words, at odds with Brienne's, struck Jaime in his core.

He saw that there was no way forward with him that ended pleasantly, so he took the unpleasant route and threatened his young son. Jaime's conscience, locked away in Riverrun now, would not betray him this time. Edmure was not the Blackfish, and he would not see through the disguise. If Jaime wanted him to believe that his family would come to harm, Catelyn's brother was going to believe it. "You and your son don't matter to me, he said. "The people in the castle," he added, his voice breaking but going unnoticed, "don't matter to me." The prisoner bought the lie.

It was the only way to get through this without bloodshed. Edmure, having inherited Riverrun at his father's death, was the true Lord. The Tully forces would have to recognize that, let him into the castle, and obey him when he told them to lay down their swords and open the gates to the Lannister army. If the Blackfish's hold on the castle was as strong as he seemed to think it was, this wouldn't work. But Jaime didn't believe that. If given the choice between dying for the losing side and laying down arms, most people would choose to surrender. Jaime was counting on that for all their sakes. Hopefully Brienne would follow suit and defer to Lady Catelyn's brother. "Trust me," he whispered to no one, willing her to hear him across the field and through the stone walls.

He thought back to when he'd started that journey with her - before losing his hand, among other things. How he'd managed to grab one of her swords and had fought with her on that bridge in the middle of nowhere, thinking to kill her. She'd knocked him to ground more than once and then, when Locke and his men had appeared, he'd looked up from the dirt and she'd been standing over him protectively, sword drawn, ready to fight them in his defense. He'd never seen something so magnificent.

_And I cannot get you out_

If this works, Jaime thought to himself, and they were able to take the castle without killing anyone, the Freys will get Riverrun and Edmure back - that should satisfy them. Then he would make a show of exiling the Blackfish to the wall and charging Brienne with taking him there so that she could fulfill at least part of her mission for Sansa, and he could have done something truly decent. Cersei wouldn't like it, of course. She'd see right through what he'd done. But so long as Brienne was headed back North she'd be far away, and safe from Cersei's claws.

The guards walked Edmure out of the tent, appropriately clothed, and unbound. Jaime nodded to him and watched as he made his way toward the castle. For several tense minutes, nothing seemed to happen. And then finally, the drawbridge opened.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Andrew Belle's "In My Veins" (C) 2010.


	11. Book 1, Ch 11: The Siege

From the yard, Brienne could hear the shouting at the top of the wall. She and Pod had positioned themselves to be ready to aid Ser Brynden whenever necessary, hopeful that he might still change his mind. As the Blackfish descended the great stairway, she could see that his cool demeanor had evaporated. The yard suddenly burst into life around them, men scattering into position. The call to open the gate rang clearly and the chain for the drawbridge began to move. That's when Ser Brynden spotted them. "Meet me at the end of the hall, near the maester's chambers," he whispered before starting up another staircase.

Podrick leapt up, but Brienne delayed. "What does he mean to do?" She said aloud. The bridge sank lower and she peered over it to see who was on the other side, hopeful. She could see only one man who, as soon as the bridge had leveled, walked into the castle. The guards raised the bridge behind him as he stopped and seemed to take in his surroundings. Podrick bent over and whispered, "My lady?" Brienne took a deep breath as Edmure looked around, clearly searching for one face in particular with a murderous look. She assumed more than knew that to be Lord Edmure. If he had come, that must mean that Jaime was at least trying to seize the castle bloodlessly. Edmure approached one of the guards, "find the Blackfish. He belongs to the Freys." And with that he rushed up the steps that the Blackfish had descended not long before.

"Go, Pod!" They bound up the steps that led into the yard and turned down the dark hall. "This way!" Pod led her down another longer hall where, at the end, the Blackfish waited with a torch. "Stay close," he said, "but mind yourself, these step can be a bit damp." As he turned she could see that he'd been standing in an archway with steps that led down further than she'd imagined the castle could go. Brienne could feel humidity rising up behind him. She looked at Pod who simply nodded before following the knight ahead of her into the dark, dank air. As they descended, they could hear marching from above that got quieter the deeper they went. Jaime must be marching on the castle. She could feel that rock settling in her stomach again.

_Oh you're all I taste_

After several minutes of endless slippery steps, she spied a bright orange hue ahead which turned out to be Ser Brynden's torch reflecting off of the reddish water and the moss-covered stones in the bowels of the castle. A rowboat was waiting in the water and Podrick had already climbed into it. Brienne looked to the Blackfish who nodded, "Go on." She suddenly realized that he wasn't planning on running from the fight - he hadn't rushed down these stairs to save himself, but to save them. "Come with us," she urged him. "I've run before. From the Red Wedding. I'm not running again. This is my family home." She could have hit him - was this what her stubbornness was like to other people, she wondered. "Your family is in the North. Come with us. Don't die for pride when you can fight for your blood."

The Blackfish raised his eyebrows at this, taking the measure of her. "You'll serve Sansa far better than I ever could." Brienne froze. The old knight was complimenting her and preparing to run off to his death almost in the same breath. Brienne could only respect him for that. She nodded just as a shout rang out from up the long stairs. "Go on, now!" he hissed. The Blackfish drew his sword. "I haven't had a proper sword fight in years. I expect I'll make a damn fool of myself." And with an arched brow, he was gone.

She watched him go, knowing she had failed. She could hear the boat creaking behind her as Pod struggled to hold it in place, she could hear the water flowing slowly beneath the castle, churning up the red clay, and could hear it dripping from the stones, and now she could hear the clash of swords in the stairwell. Everything seemed amplified. She was torn between two honorable things - staying and fighting, or living and fighting. Yes, she had failed this mission. But they could still live. If the Blackfish died fighting and took anyone with him, the Freys' thirst for blood might not end there. They couldn't stay here, even if Jaime succeeded, the Freys were not known for doing things any way but their own. To live, they had to leave.

_At night inside of my mouth_

She climbed into the boat and helped Podrick push them away from the stones. If they followed the current, they'd wind up in the west, near Casterly Rock. They would need to row against it in order to go North. Podrick found his pace and began moving them ever so quietly to the mouth of the cellar. The river scouts they'd encountered that morning had just returned, Brienne thought, so with the armies focused on the siege, they should be able to slip away in the little boat unseen. With any luck, they could get far enough away by dawn that the boat could be abandoned and they could cross the trident.

As they approached open water Brienne listened. She could hear the sounds of the camps, but realized that she couldn't hear any sounds of battle. The castle appeared to be eerily silent. No screams, not even any more marching. Jaime had to have succeeded. She thanked the gods, and sank low in the boat so as not to be seen.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Andrew Belle's "In My Veins" (C) 2010.


	12. Book 1, Ch 12: The Moon

Jaime stood on the battlements of the captured castle. All was quiet below. that was a good sign.

_Oh you run away_

He'd looked for her as he rode into the castle, but she wasn't in the yard, nor in the great hall, nor was she there on the battlements. The castle had surrendered to them but Edmure Tully had sent his men in search of the Blackfish before the drawbridge had hit the bank. If she was with him and the oaf fought back...he didn't dare think on it. He took a deep breath, remembering her words to him, trying not to blame himself for whatever had befallen her. On entering the castle, Bronn had asked after the location of the dungeons and had disappeared without even a glance at him. Good man. If she and Pod were there, Bronn would recover them.

_'Cause I am not what you found_

His thoughts were interrupted by boots on the stairway. A Lannister captain stepped into the near dark and greeted his commander. The Blackfish had been found. Jaime breathed a sigh of relief. "Good," he said, "bring him to me." He looked forward to seeing Brienne's face when he told the Blackfish to take the black and leave with her.

"He's dead, my lord. He died fighting." Jaime's heart sank. He looked up at the captain, silently preparing himself for news of Brienne, his chest tightening. But the soldier said nothing else. Surely if she had been fighting alongside the Blackfish that would not go unmentioned. Then again if she'd been there, he had no doubt that the Blackfish would still be alive and she would have been the one to make the report with a dozen defeated Lannister, Frey and Tully soldiers behind her. Jaime nodded to dismiss the guard. Where was she?

* * *

From her low position in the boat Brienne could see that they had finally moved out of sight of the camp, and sat up. So long as they were quiet, the marshes should protected by the marshes. She sat up and nodded a silent warning to Pod, and he returned it, in sync.

* * *

Jaime's body felt weak with worry. He held onto the stones for support and walked to edge of the parapet, looking down at the swirling river below. The sky was clear and the full moon was shining on the rusty surface of the water. He was lost in his worried thoughts, entranced by the rippling reflection when it was suddenly split in two and brilliant tawny diamond of light seemed to sparkle from within it, catching the moon. A small boat was being rowed against the gentle current, away from the castle, away from him. She had walked away from him many times - he would know the back of that head anywhere.

_Oh you're in my veins_

He exhaled audibly, the tension that had been in his body for what felt like years dropping away. He imagined himself melting, his body rolling languidly down the stone walls, slipping silently into the muddy waters and getting caught up in her wake.

_And I cannot get you out_

He chanced a glance back to where the captain had been standing only moments before and found it empty. He offered a silent prayer of gratitude and turned back to watch her leave yet again, willing her to turn around.

* * *

As Jaime had turned back to watch them go, Pod had caught the glint of his armor and recognized the him. He met Brienne's eyes and silently urged her to look back. With a quizzical brow, she did. Every time had felt like the last, and this was no different. Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed a sob straight from her core as he raised his golden hand to wave farewell, catching the light like a beacon calling her back to him. She raised her hand and held it in the air, conjuring a promise, begging the Warrior to keep Jaime safe from his own self-doubt.

There they remained, posed in silent prayer, until Podrick guided the boat around the bend.

_No, no, I cannot get you out_  
_No, I cannot get you out_

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Andrew Belle's "In My Veins" (C) 2010.


	13. Book 1, Ch 13: The Promise (Epilogue)

**14 months later**

Jaime mounted his horse and wrapped his cloak around him. He'd stopped only long enough to warn Daven to settle his affairs and leave the Keep, and to borrow some of the steward's clothes. It would have been too risky to return to the tower. Cersei was mad. She had been for some time, but he'd allowed himself to be blind to it, lately more than ever.

After reports of the Battle of the Bastards had arrived at the capital, he'd convinced himself that Brienne was dead. There'd been so much carnage, they'd heard. Thousands, all dead. The thought of those eyes being closed forever rocked him. Every time he managed to sleep, he'd pictured some other awful way for her to die, always somehow his fault. He'd sunk into a depression that only wine seemed to cure - something Bronn was always happy to encourage so long as it kept Jaime safe from his thoughts. And that's how he'd wound up back in Cersei's bed. With Tyrion still in the wind, and Tommen and everyone else he cared for dead, Cersei was all he'd really had left at the time, or so he kept telling himself.

When he'd joined the procession to the dragonpit four days before, he thought he'd known what to expect - according to Tyrion, dragons and dead men. If it was all as terrifying has had been impressed on him, Cersei might be convinced to make a truce. But you had to have trust to have a truce, and Cersei did not easily trust anyone. But if she agreed, they would be going to war almost immediately.

As they walked the road to the meeting with the Dragon Queen, Jaime had relished in the idea of having a chance to throw himself into something again. He'd been lost in his reverie when Bronn appeared in the path and Jaime had stopped in his tracks, all air leaving his body, barely able to steady himself as his feet refused to move. Bronn had been tasked with meeting the party from Dragonstone and escorting them to the site - his reappearance on the road was no surprise - it was the familiar squire at his side that had caused Jaime to nearly collapse as he stared wide-eyed at the living, breathing ghost of Podrick Payne.

Pod nodded in greeting as Jaime darted his eyes from one to the other, searching for the answer to a question he couldn't quite formulate. Bronn grinned, and for the first time in a very long time, hope had crept into Jaime's heart. "If ya'think this one's a looker, just wait 'til ya see th' other skeletons they've dug up." Jaime had grasped Pod's shoulder in gratitude and then rushed to catch up to the front of the procession. If she was alive, and if she was here, he had to get between her and Cersei.

Halfway to the front of the line, his senses had caught up with him. He'd been ready to run off and defend a woman who had defeated the Hound and survived the Battle of the Bastards - she didn't need his protection, Cersei did. Maybe not from Brienne, but from everything else about to come at them. He had his duty to do by his sister, whatever she was. He'd found himself just behind Ser Gregor as they rounded the corner to the entrance. And there she was, wrapped in furs like a northwoman. As the parade approached the center of the ring, he met her eyes for the first time in over a year, and nearly tripped. He passed close to her, daring to look at her for only a moment more - long enough to assess that she was whole, alive, and breathing. He sat down, his entire body awash in both relief and worry, torn between the two women. He could feel them both watching him even as he tried to remain impassive - Brienne studying him from a distance, and Cersei seeing this and glaring at him from two feet away. He'd met Cersei's eyes in attempted nonchalance only long enough to see rage boiling there when the dragons had arrived.

The meeting had not gone well. The Dragon Queen and her pets were as expected. The wight was terrifying - also as expected. And Jon Snow was even more a fool than Jaime himself. The King in the North, it seemed, hadn't figured out yet how to put duty aside in certain circumstances and live to fight another day. Cersei had been irate and ended all talk of the truce there, departing without ceremony. As he walked down the steps he felt Brienne watching him, but he couldn't look at her. The next time he saw her might be in the field, and he knew himself just well enough to know that meeting her eye now would betray his fears. He'd already come up against Daenerys in battle, and there was no match for her dragons. Cersei's declaration had sealed their fates. Even if he somehow managed to survive a dragon attack for the second time, Brienne was apparently immortal and would live to end his miserable life.

He'd tried to pass her without a glance, reminding her of his loyalties when she tried to speak. That's when she'd grabbed his arm. "Fuck loyalty," she'd said. Brienne of Tarth, loyal to a fault, had just shouted "fuck loyalty." He knew that she was not asking him to betray his family, but asking him to see something else as equally important, appealing to his better self - someone he barely knew anymore. He'd turned and seen that Cersei had stopped and was staring at them murderously - what was that look in her eye exactly? Anger? Jealousy? He'd seen it before, and he knew that if he didn't make a show of following Cersei now, Brienne wouldn't make it out of King's Landing alive. So he'd turned on his heel and left.

On their return to the Keep, he'd tried to talk to Cersei until she'd thrown him out. She'd seen right through him, despite his assurances that his first concern was her and the child - a child, he admitted to himself, that he doubted the reality of more and more with each passing day. Only after speaking to Tyrion of all people did she seem to come around. He should have known then that she was only doing it to manipulate them all, and to make Tyrion look like a fool.

She'd marched them all back to the pit and put on a show of telling him to call all of the Lannister bannermen to arms to fight the dead. He'd been foolish enough to believe that she'd changed her mind - so had Tyrion, and so had most of the party from Dragonstone. Only Brienne had seemed skeptical, her suspicion evident from a distance.

When the queen had departed the pit a second time he had held back, slowing his pace until Cersei was out of sight, and then turned back to Brienne who had followed his movements and had slowly been making her way down the steps toward him at the edge of the pit. He swallowed, "I wish you hadn't come here." She'd looked injured, and he'd quickly added "The capital isn't safe for anyone." Brienne had set her jaw and looked down at him, cold: "You seem to have managed." He'd looked up at her slyly, and then nodded in the direction of the tents, his teasing sparkle returning "I thought you said you killed the Hound." Brienne had turned pink at the neck and smiled slightly, "I thought I had." "Well you did a terrible job of it." He chuckled, and she seemed to relax a bit, but then that worried look she'd worn during Cersei's speech had come back.

He'd paused then, knowing he should return to the Keep, but not wanting to leave her side, and realizing that this was possibly the only goodbye they'd ever had with a promise of reunion. For the first time in many years it occurred to him that he was free to make his own choices - other people's expectations of him be damned. He would lead the army north, and he might die in the north but, if not, perhaps he could stay. He couldn't fight against his sister, whatever she was, but he didn't have to defend her either. Brienne was watching him, her hand resting on Oathkeeper. "I hope that the queen keeps her promise," she'd said cautiously. He'd nodded, "My army will depart in a few days' time. We've still got some troops in the Westerlands - they'll join us at the Trident, and I'll bring them all to Winterfell. You have my word." Brienne had taken a deep breath and nodded, neither willing to utter a goodbye this time.

Just hours ago, while he'd been reviewing the needs of the expedition and counting down the days until he would be free of the city's grasp, far from Cersei's control, commanding his armies and heading north to keep his promise, Cersei had finally revealed her treachery. His blood had run cold. When he tried to take control of the situation, she'd threatened to have him killed. But he knew her - even if she didn't want him to - he truly knew her now. She was a hateful, jealous woman and there was one thing that she apparently prized above all else now that she had suffocated the life out of her children - and it was him. He called her bluff and left, his heart pounding out of his chest as he sidled past Ser Gregor and ran down the tower steps.

As he approached the Kingsroad, he looked back at the capital. Daenerys could turn it all to ash for all he cared. He would not be there to see it. He looked up the road and felt the cold winds on his face, and bundled the cloak tighter. He knew that Jon and Daenerys would not take the news of Cersei's deceit lightly. And he knew what he risked, returning to Winterfell without the shield and security of his army. He'd killed Daenerys' father two decades ago. He'd been instrumental in the death of Jon's father not ten years ago. These were not wounds that healed easily and, without an army, he was only a man. What was one more living man against a hundred thousand dead men? But he knew where he belonged, and he had a promise to keep. He signaled the horse with his heels and rode north.

_Oh no, I cannot get you_

* * *

**A/N: This story is really calling to me, so I guess it's not stopping - Book 1 is complete, but I'll be following up with Book 2 shortly! Stay tuned!**

I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Andrew Belle's "In My Veins" (C) 2010.


	14. I WILL WAIT Book 2, Ch 1: The Kingslayer

Jon and Daenerys' caravan had made it to Winterfell in 3 weeks thanks to good winds from Dragonstone and good roads from White Harbor. Brienne and Pod had ridden ahead of the caravan to reach Sansa sooner, knowing that time was of the essence. Jaime was only 1 day behind the rest, having taken the King's Road and ridden even through the night at times. He'd changed horses twice and had slept very little.

The sun was rising as he approached the village, the snow-covered castle looming in the distance. Everyone seemed to be retreating to it, as the roads were packed. Finally, he made it through the gate and dismounted, stretching his legs as he took in grounds. A wave of anxious nostalgia washed over him, and he wished he could spot a familiar face in the din – any familiar face.

_Well I came home  
Like a stone_

His wish was granted. When he spotted Bran, his face fell. He recognized the boy he'd tried to kill all those years ago. The Stark boy he'd pushed from the broken tower after he'd caught Jaime and Cersei in a stolen moment while the king was hunting. Jaime suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe. Coming here had been a mistake. It was one thing to defend your actions when it came to men you'd killed. It was quite another to defend your crimes against a living man. His head was pounding, and he felt torn in every direction. But before he could move, the Unsullied were upon him.

* * *

Sansa had begun planning and preparation for the battle before Jon's arrival, and had been looking forward to having Brienne's insight following her return from King's Landing. That morning they'd walked out to overlook the yard and were discussing the need for space around the forge, and alternate locations for training some of the less-experienced fighters when a hooded man rode into the yard and drew Brienne's attention, putting her on alert. The mount was unfamiliar but she would swear that the figure had just dismounted without the use of his right hand.

She watched as he pushed the hood from from his head and ran his hand over his hair and face in exhaustion. He turned, taking in his surroundings. Sansa was in the middle of a question about armor when Brienne gasped in clear recognition.

Sansa followed Brienne's eyes and her look hardened. She glanced down below them in the yard and spotted Grey Worm and two of his companions. "You!" she said, drawing his attention, and pointing to Jaime on the other side of the yard, "Seize that man. Have him brought before your queen in the great hall." Grey Worm looked warily at her, but nodded and marched off. Brienne panicked.

"My lady, he – "

"Go warn Jon. Tell him Cersei Lannister has sent her vile brother to do her dirty work."

"Lady Sansa, I – "

"Go!"

With a last glance toward Jaime, she ran back inside and through the halls until she reached Lord Snow's chambers and pounded on the door. Jon opened it right away and was alarmed to see the striking woman towering over him. She did not wait for his leave to speak.

"My lord, your sister bid me tell you…Ser Jaime Lannister has just arrived."

"The army is here already?"

"My lord, it would appear he's ridden here alone."

"What? What of the men?"

"I do not believe he has brought the army, my lord. For him to catch up with us this soon from the King's Road he must have ridden very hard. I suspect there may be something amiss."

"There've been no ravens. We'd thought to hear of their march by now at least."

"Lady Sansa had the queen's guards bring him to the great hall. My lord, I beg that you will hear out whatever Ser Jaime has to say – he would not have come all this way –"

"- The Lannisters wanted the Starks dead, Lady Brienne. He's the Kingslayer. He killed our queen's father. His intent may not be honorable."

She drew herself up to her full height, "I know that Tywin Lannister had no love for your family. And I know that Cersei and Joffrey had no love for your family. But Ser Jaime and Lord Tyrion are not their father. They have both made mistakes. Many mistakes. You know him as the Kingslayer, but he is far more honorable and trustworthy than that name would suggest, despite what you may know, despite what he has done in the past. I beg you, hear him out. He made a promise to come north and so far he has fulfilled that promise. That must be allowed to count for something. Let him prove his intent."

Jon sighed. "If it comes to me, I will hear him. We do not execute prisoners in the north without proven guilt. And we have a war to fight. But the queen...she may not see things that way."

If Daenerys thinks she's going to murder Jaime Lannister for keeping a promise, thought Brienne, they would need to go through her. She would not stand down.

_And I fell heavy into your arms_

"Thank you, my lord," she said coldly, and made to leave.

"Lady Brienne?"

She turned back. Jon felt her anger radiating and felt helpless to dispel it.

"Lady Brienne I do not control the queen. She will do as she sees fit. For his sake and yours, do not hesitate in your appeal to her. And if things do not go the way you wish, I only ask that you think of Sansa's protection before acting."

Brienne took a breath. She and Jaime had fulfilled their promise to Lady Catelyn. She'd sworn her sword to Sansa. But this – as with the war to come – it was bigger than oaths. Bigger than loyalty.

"Your sister is very strong, my lord – both of them are. They do not need my protection."

And with that, she left the warden of the north feeling as helpless as ever, and made her way toward the great hall.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Mumford & Sons' "I Will Wait" (C) 2012.


	15. Book 2, Ch 2: The Appeal

The guards had escorted Jaime to the great hall and sequestered him in a corner until the Queen had entered with Sansa and Jon Snow in tow. They'd removed his armor and cloak and taken his sword. Save for the blunt power of his heavy gilt hand, he was defenseless.

As the Queen entered, the Unsullied moved him to the center of the room. He spied Tyrion hovering to the side, a fearfulness in his eyes that he'd last seen outside of their sister's chamber in King's Landing. "I'm about to step into a room with the most murderous woman in the world," Tyrion had said. Somehow his fear now was worse. Breaking his glance with his brother, he thought he saw the top of a tall blonde head out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn't be sure, and given the hate in the queen's eyes he thought it best to not start looking about the room. She commanded his full attention.

"When I was a child," Daenerys began, "my brother would tell me a bedtime story about the man who murdered our father," Jaime nods, knowing what is coming, "…who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat. Who sat down on the iron throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor."

Jaime looked at the ground, not wanting to betray to her his superior knowledge of who her father really was – she was not someone to be argued with.

"He told me other stories as well…about all the things we would do to that man once we took back the seven kingdoms and had him in our grasp." Daenerys gave him a hard look and he returned it. If this was to be the end, at least it was his own doing.

_These days of dust  
Which we've known_

"Your sister pledged to send her army north."

"She did."

"I don't see an army," Daenerys shrugged. "I see one man with one hand. It appears your sister lied to me."

Jaime offered Tyrion a knowing glance. "She lied to me as well." Then, shaking his head and raising his voice for all to hear, "She never had any intention of sending her army north. She has Euron Greyjoy's fleet and 20,000 fresh troops – the Golden Company from Essos, bought and paid for." Dany gives Tyrion a steely glance before going back to his brother. "Even if we defeat the dead, she'll have more than enough to destroy the survivors." But at least I will have spoiled her surprise and given us an edge, he thought.

Dany looked dubious "We?"

"I promised to fight for the living," Jaime was saying, "and I intend to keep that promise." His word, Brienne knew, might not be worth much to most everyone in the room. But she felt in that moment that he was speaking directly to her.

_Will blow away with this new sun_

Tyrion attempted to interject, but Daenerys would not hear him. Tyrion looked to Jon just as Brienne willed Jon to look at her, but he seemed lost in his own thoughts, surrendered to whatever power this queen held over him, and saw neither of them.

Then Brienne's hopes sank completely – Sansa was calling for Jaime's exile from the castle. Jaime fought back, attempting to rationalize with her but, as Brienne knew, Sansa was beyond listening to the man. Only when Bran spoke up from the corner did any of them stop and seem to consider their words. "The things we do for love," he'd said. He'd been staring at Jaime when he said it, but Brienne felt it in the pit of her stomach.

"So why," asked Daenerys, breaking the silence, "have you abandoned your house and family now?"

She knew she had to act – she knew that the queen was winding down to a pronouncement. She had to appeal to the queen as Jon had suggested, but her courage was failing her. She had wanted to defend him but in the presence of the Starks and their bannerman she was torn between him and her duty.

In response to the queen, Jaime chanced a glance behind him as if to reassure himself that he hadn't imagined her there. Suddenly it seemed to her as if the two of them were the only people in the room. When he spoke, her own words re-formed in his mouth - "Because this goes beyond loyalty," he said as he finally met her eye, _fuck loyalty_ ringing in their ears, "this is about survival."

_But I'll kneel down  
Wait for now_

Brienne knew that this was it – she could not hesitate a moment longer. Loudly and ungracefully she stood and pushed her bench from the table, catching a look from Daenerys who did not appear to appreciate the interruption, looking murderously from Jaime to Brienne.

"You don't know me well, your grace," started Brienne as she crossed to the center of the hall, bodily placing herself between Jaime and the queen and mustering as much confidence and height as she could, almost mirroring the stance they had talen on the bridge when Locke had found them, knowing that if she did not speak frankly now there might not be another chance, "but I know Ser Jaime. He is a man of honor."

Sansa was glaring at her, but she could not stop now, "I was his captor once. But when we were both taken prisoner and the men holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jaime defended me. And lost his hand because of it." At this, Tyrion started and caught his brother's eye; Jaime only looked back down at his feet. He had only told Tyrion that he'd lost it when his captors had tortured him; he'd never told him that it had happened while he was trying to protect the Maid of Tarth. Brienne was known to be a forthright and honest person without artifice, so this had to be the truth – but why had Jaime never said anything? He looked to Sansa whose glare seemed to have softened into curiosity.

Brienne could see that Daenerys would not be easily moved, and Jon was in the corner being no help. So Brienne turned to Sansa who now had her ear. "Without him, my lady, you would not be alive. He armed me, armored me, and sent me to find you and bring you home, because he'd sworn an oath to your mother." Sansa could see the emotion in Brienne's eyes, and she knew that she must be speaking the truth. Her thoughts of the Kingslayer were completely at odds with the tale that Brienne was telling, but she'd learned the hard way that Brienne only ever spoke the truth.

"You vouch for him?"

"I do."

Jaime offered a sad smile behind her that he felt in his eyes only.

"You would fight beside him?"

Whether Sansa had intended it as such, this question came as a challenge, and both Brienne and Jaime understood that. Would she fight beside him in the war to come? Yes. Would she fight beside him should the queen call for his execution? Without question. "I would."

Jaime glanced up at her, wishing he could catch her eye. He did not deserve her confidence, but she gave it willingly, knowing full well what he was. He silently made a promise then and there to fight by her side so long as she let him.

Brienne was glad that he could not see her face – she was starting to shake, her body ready to spring into action if the need arose. There was an ache in her chest that she could not explain. If Sansa did not listen to her, honor would compel her to fight Stark men and Unsullied alike.

_And I'll kneel down  
Know my ground_

Sansa took a breath and addressed Brienne again, "I trust you with my life. If you trust him with yours, we should let him stay." Brienne swallowed the sigh of relief that threatened to leave her body. She nodded to Sansa and returned to her seat without another glance at Jaime.

Daenerys seemed to be beside herself – Sansa had made a pronouncement that was counter to any of her wishes. She turned to Jon – her one ally that she believed she could count on in all things. "What does the warden of the North say about it?"

Brienne put her hand to the pommel of her sword, anxiously awaiting Jon's response. Finally Jon seemed to get out of his daze. He looked at Jaime, and then to Brienne. "We need every man we can get." Brienne felt the fist clutching her heart let go and settle lower instead.

_And I will wait, I will wait for you_

Daenerys was less than pleased with this answer, but she was overruled. Sword back in his hand, Jaime offered his thanks to Daenerys who promptly stood up as if to leave the room, causing everyone else to rise as well. Jaime could feel Brienne's eyes on him, and he turned to her to offer his gratitude. There were many questions he wanted to ask her. She had given him a chance he didn't deserve and he was not about to start letting her down now. She held his glance for a moment, eyes glassy, then spun away from the table and started for the door. He watched her leave the room, sparing one more glance back at him, before she left the hall. He was tired of watching her walk away from him.

_And I will wait, I will wait for you_

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Mumford & Sons' "I Will Wait" (C) 2012.


	16. Book 2, Ch 3: Sleep

As the northerners and Unsullied left the hall, Jaime found himself alone with his pile of armor. He picked it up and placed it on a table and sat at the bench where Brienne had been seated only moments before. He ran his fingers along the grain and considered resting right there. The hall likely wouldn't be needed again until supper and he would be in no one's way there. Clearly no one was going to seek his company. Even Brienne had walked away. His experience in the field, not to mention his very recent experience of sleeping wherever he could for an hour at a time on the ride north, had prepped him for just this. He was about to mold himself a pillow, when he heard a gentle cough behind him.

Whipping his head around he found two men watching him, one more bemused than the other. The stoic one was Podrick Payne, the latter a weather-beaten man he'd seen at Jon Snow's side in King's Landing.

"Well met, Pod."

"Ser Jaime," responded Podrick, offering him a half-smile and a nod. "This is Ser Davos Seaworth, Hand to Lord Snow." Davos clucked at the squire and nodded to Jaime, "not sure I can call myself Hand now that the knee of the North has been bent, but I do like to keep myself useful." Jaime liked the man immediately. He had a frankness about him that put him at ease, and Jaime was glad to know him.

"Well then, are you here in your official capacity, my lord hand?"

"Aye, In a way. Lord Snow didn't wish to make a fuss in front of the ladies so he asked me to make sure you found a berth. Can't have you sleeping in trees or ditches as you're accustomed."

Jaime offered a wry smile, "Is that Lord Snow's way of keeping an eye on me?"

Davos grinned. "Any other king and I'd say yes. And I've known my fair share. But in this case, no I believe his priorities are elsewhere." Jaime nodded and gathered his armor before following Davos as he left the hall and headed up a set of stone steps with Podrick in tow. Yes, Jon had seemed distracted just now, but this attention to his guests' comfort – if Jaime could be called that – was admirable.

When they reached the landing, Davos gestured to a chamber two doors down. "You'll be just there, and I'm - he turned and looked down the other end of the hall, searching - well fuck me if I know, I'm down there somewhere. Podrick here knows how to find me if I'm needed, I'm sure." Jaime looked curiously at Podrick who only nodded.

"Thank you, Ser Davos. This is very kind."

"Ach, don't thank me, I make no promises about that bed in there," he said, starting back down the stairs, "might make your ditches look damn cozy!"

As the older knight disappeared, Jaime turned to Pod with an upturned brow, but the squire had already gone to open the door. Jaime followed him and found the chamber rather cold and stale. The sight of the bed, humble as it was, immediately made his eyelids droop, but he wasn't ready to sleep just yet.

Pod lit the fire expertly and fed it while Jaime removed his boots in silence. Finally, as Jaime settled into the chair and loosened his jerkin, he turned to the squire who had just picked up Jaime's armor and was preparing to arrange it on the other side of the room.

"Podrick, leave it. I'm sure you're needed elsewhere. What of your lady?" he asked as casually as he could muster. That lady had just saved his neck, and he was anxious to know her state of mind.

"She's advising Lady Sansa." Pod shrugged. "And Ser Davos asked for my assistance as someone who was acquainted with you."

"You mean someone who didn't want me dead. Yes I don't suppose he had many options."

Pod grinned fully, "Don't worry, Ser Jaime. You still have a few friends here."

Jaime smirked at the boy – no, the boy was now a man. He'd been just grown when he'd saddled Brienne with him. It warmed him to think that after all this time he was still loyally following her around. Brienne had managed to keep all of his gifts to her on that departure. Her armor, he'd noticed, was scuffed and dented in places, but it had kept its color and she'd seemed to radiate with watery light.

_So break my step  
And relent_

"Ser Jaime?"

Pod broke into Jaime's sleepy reverie. He didn't remember having closed his eyes, but when he opened them he found the squire standing over him holding a thin fur bundle in one hand and a flagon of wine in the other.

"Ser Jaime, I hope this will be enough – we seem to be short on blankets, but between this and the fire you should be alright." No doubt, Jaime thought darkly, we'll have more than enough to go around by the time this battle is over.

Jaime offered him a sleepy nod. "Pod, I've been sleeping out of doors for a month. I have no doubt of this being an improvement."

Pod nodded and laid the fur across the bed. "Ser Jaime, may I ask why? You had every comfort in the capital – why ride north with so little, especially when you know that the odds of this battle are not in our favor? Why come at all?"

Jaime regarded the squire and then leaned forward conspiratorially, "All those who care for me, few though they are, are here ready to face death together. I've made the mistake of staying behind before. I could not do it to h-…I could not stay idle. I have the chance to fight on the right side for once in my cursed life." He looked at his feet, stretching his toes and feeling sleep creeping in. "How could I not?"

"I'll be proud to fight by your side, Ser Jaime." Jaime smiled.

"I'm looking forward to seeing what you're made of, Podrick. By all accounts, you've come a long way."

Podrick smiled and threw another log on the fire, brushing his hands on his trousers. "Will you be needing anything else, Ser Jaime? I should check in downstairs." Jaime shook his head, a sad smile playing on his lips.

"No Pod, go on. Go to your lady."

Pod nodded once and saw himself out. Jaime stared into the fire and sighed. The heat made him feel parched but his limbs felt heavy. He stood and slowly moved to the corner of the bed. A few more steps and he would have the wine in hand. But he wasn't going to make it. He sank to the bed and drew the blanket up to his waist before he lost his grip on it, slipping into a deep and terrible sleep.

* * *

After supper, Brienne heard an expected knock at her door. "Enter, Pod."

Pod entered the chamber and nodded at her.

"Well?"

"Still asleep, my lady. He seems to be having fitfull dreams," added Pod with a curious glance, "shouting a bit. But he does not appear ill."

Brienne nodded – "Good. Thank you, Pod. I shan't require you in the morning," she said, hinting that he might be more useful elsewhere.

"Yes, my lady. Good night." Pod closed the door behind him and Brienne was alone again with her thoughts.

When he hadn't appeared at supper, she was at first unconcerned – perhaps he'd gotten himself lost in the castle. But when the queen seemed to notice she'd panicked. She'd asked Pod to first check the stables to confirm that his horse was still there. It was. That was good – it meant he hadn't run off either back to Cersei or to his army's secret camp – something Daenerys had voiced a concern about behind closed doors. Brienne had given her word that he was in the north with good intentions, but convincing the dragon queen was not easy, and his absence from the hall that evening seemed to signal something to the suspicious queen that didn't sit well with Brienne.

When Pod had returned from the stables, her panic was replaced with anxiety that roiled in her stomach - he'd ridden long and hard through the early winter – he could be ill. She recalled how the fever had hit him at Harrenhal, how helpless he'd been then. She couldn't' stand the idea of having just saved his life only to have him die of a cold brought on by his at-times idiotic gallantry. After debating whether to check on him herself she finally sided with decorum asked Pod to go to Jaime's chamber, which unbeknownst to her had lay directly across from her own. When Pod had disappeared across the hall, she'd silently cursed Davos for it.

Knowing that he was not ill was a comfort but fitfull dreams, as Pod had put it, were not a good omen. On the road from Harrenhal to King's Landing he'd had a few nights like that. She'd had to wake him to keep him from drawing unnecessary attention from passersby. He'd never told her what he'd been dreaming of, but she'd gleaned enough to know that it seemed to be a kind of recurring dream of dead kings and a warrior with a glowing sword. He'd never suffered those fits on the road before losing his hand, so she'd assumed that they had been brought on by the trauma. With the battle to come that meant that these dreams could only get worse.

She sat in her bed, knees drawn to her chest, and watched the fire burn down for a long time, listening.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Mumford & Sons' "I Will Wait" (C) 2012.


	17. Book 2, Ch 4: The Past

Jaime wandered the grounds searching for Brandon Stark, the boy he'd tried to kill all those years ago. He'd woken up that morning feeling more refreshed than he had in years and knowing that amends would need to be made before the day was out. His first order of business should be with the one who had suffered longest by his hand – the one who could have easily tipped the scales against him yesterday if he had revealed his crime before Sansa and the queen.

Pod had shown up bright and early with a tub and hot water for him to bathe. As Jaime sank his sore limbs into the water he'd started crafting his apology – not that he wasn't truly sorry for this, and for everything that he'd ever done in Cersei's name, but the boy unnerved him with his faraway stare. Something that, no doubt, was also Jaime's fault. Why, he wondered, had Bran not had him gutted there in the great hall? Why had the boy reminded him of his act without calling attention to it? His own words came back to haunt him then – _The things we do for love_ – his being here was, in a way, an act of love. No, Jaime thought, it was wholly an act of love – everything that came before, including pushing Bran, those things were done out of desperation, out of loyalty to a viper, out of his need for Cersei's approval. He scrubbed his face with the cloth and felt the soap stinging his eyes. _Never again_.

He found Bran in his wheeled chair sitting in the godswood. No other soul appeared to be nearby and as Jaime approached he found himself wondering how Bran had come to find himself here in the snow. And on an expanded thought, how had he even survived all this time?

He approached the boy from the side, hoping not to startle him from whatever prayers or thoughts he might be mired in. Jaime's boots crunched in the snow, sounding his arrival. But Bran did not turn toward him. Despite his preparation, Jaime struggled with what to say, his shame for having thrown the boy mixed in with remembrances of Tommen's broken body after having thrown himself…it was too much. Finally he forced it out.

"I'm sorry for what I did to you."

Bran turned to him, a sedate look of appraisal in his eyes.

"You weren't sorry then. You were protecting your family."

My family is here, he thought. "I'm not that person anymore."

"You still would be. If you hadn't pushed me out of that window. And I would still be Brandon Stark." Jaime took a step back in surprise.

"You're not?"

"No, I'm something else now."

Jaime had come to Bran in the hopes of making amends and perhaps working towards forgiveness. But the boy, it seemed, was well beyond that. "You're not angry at me?"

"I'm not angry at anyone."

This didn't make any sense. "Why didn't you tell them?"

"You won't be able to help us in this fight if I let them murder you first."

So that was it. Brandon Stark, or whomever he was, was playing strategically. Jaime could very well fight this battle and survive, only to have his head chopped off by one of the Starks anyway. That wasn't the way he'd ever wanted to go. He was here in good faith, ready to swear his sword to whomever necessary and possibly bring himself a little peace in the process. "What about afterwards?"

"How do you know there is an afterwards?"

That was something jaime rarely concerned himself with. But what if there is? he wondered. What if he lived? What if they all somehow lived? Could they go on like this? What purpose did this cryptic boy serve other than to torture him with evasive forgiveness?

"The only guarantees in this life, Ser Jaime, are in the past. If you're looking for answers, I recommend looking there first."

And with that, the boy went back to staring at the weirwood tree as if conversing with it silently. Jaime nodded in his direction, then slowly walked back to the castle feeling more puzzled than ever before. Look to the past? Jaime had been Cersei's terrible creature in the past. How was that supposed to help him now?

_You forgave and I won't forget  
_  
Jaime was good at welcoming death. He'd often run headlong toward it, knowing that if he didn't make it, he'd served his purpose. He did not fear his own death, save once, he thought, in the bear pit. But now the uncertainty of the future dug at him.

He walked into the yard which was abuzz with activity. Men and women were loading and unloading carts, dragging supplies here and there, driving sharpened logs into the ground. If they're doing that inside, thought Jaime, they anticipate the wights getting in. If the wights get in, how do we continue to defend the walls from both sides? He and Tyrion spied one another across the yard and met in the middle.

As the brothers then made their way to one of the outer walls, Tyrion could not help expressing his shame for having believed their sister's lies.

"Was she lying about the baby, too?"

Jaime's heart sank a bit - he'd been telling himself for some time that the baby was a lie, another piece of the twisted chain that Cersei twisted around his neck to keep him close. But he couldn't tell his brother that. Tyrion felt bad enough for his folly – why make him feel even lower?

"No that part is real," he lied. Tyrion looked suspicious so Jaime kept moving, "She's always been good at using the truth to tell lies. I wouldn't be too hard on yourself. She's fooled me more than anybody."

Tyrion stopped on the steps, his eyes meeting Jaime's straight on.

"What?"

"She never fooled you," Tyrion admonished, "You always knew exactly what she was, and you loved her anyway." Tyrion continued up the steps, but Jaime found himself stuck. Yes, he'd loved Cersei unconditionally – we can't help whom we love – selfishly, and lives had been ruined for it. _Never again_. Love was not made for that.

He followed Tyrion up to the top of the wall and looked over the castle.

"So," started Tyrion, "We're going to die…at Winterfell. Not the death I would have chosen." Jaime grinned down at his brother, knowing what came next. "I always pictured myself dying in my own bed, at the age of eighty, with a belly full of wine and a-"

"-girl's mouth around your cock," finished Jaime, with a chuckle.

Tyrion rolled his eyes up at Jaime. "What about you? Did you always dream of dying by charging a dragon?" he asked with a sly grin.

Jaime shook his head knowingly and looked up at the sky, "No, I always wanted to die in the arms of the woman I love, unlikely though that seemed."

Tyrion offered him a sad grin. "Not much chance of that now."

Jaime looked back at his brother, his mind racing. "Perhaps."

Tyrion knit his brows at him, but Jaime seemed lost in thought.

Tyrion looked back out over the grounds, "At least Cersei won't get to murder me. I'm sure I'll feel some satisfaction denying her that pleasure."

Whatever Tyrion said next was lost to Jaime. His thoughts had been broken into by a familiar voice calling out orders in the distance, and being answered by the clash of swords down below.

Unconsciously he crossed to the other side of the parapet without even a glance at his brother, drawn by the sound of her voice. She was taller and blonder than anyone else, and he spotted her immediately walking the grounds and observing pockets of young men training with the sword. She was as commanding from a distance as he knew her to be up close. So fixed was he on her that he didn't notice Tryion squeezing between himself and the wall to get a glimpse of what had stolen Jaime's attention.

"Ah," said Tryion, startling Jaime from his trance, "the Maid of Tarth." He paused then and looked up at Jaime curiously, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Jaime asked defensively.

"Your hand. I thought you lost it when they tortured you. But to hear Lady Brienne tell it, you were defending her honor."

Jaime sighed and Tyrion's eyebrows shot up.

"So it's true? Not that I would doubt her, she seems honest to a fault."

Jaime glanced back at Brienne, then turned to face his brother. "I lied to keep her from being harmed by Roose Bolton's men, and as punishment for depriving our captors of their conquest, they took my sword hand. They made me wear it around my neck all the way to Harrenhal."

Tyrion stared at him in horror.

"When we got there, Bolton saw fit to return me home, but he would not release her."

"But he did."

Jaime shook his head. "He left for the Twins the same day I left for King's Landing. Cersei's current pet – Qyburn? He traveled with me, treating my arm while she was left with the men who'd ruined it. They were hoping for a bounty from her father that would never come. Another casualty of my lies."

"I don't understand."

"I went back for her. They had thrown her into a pit with a bear and a wooden sword." Tyrion gasped and stared wide-eyed at his older brother. "She didn't even have armor on." He touched his neck. "She was –" The memory came to Jaime like a noxious flood and he had to support himself on the wall in order to keep steady. Brienne had convinced him to live - in order to take his revenge, she'd said. But when he'd seen her there with those gashes on her neck, he'd thought nothing of himself. Only once she'd been lifted out of pit had he found himself fearing for his own life, and even then it was not a fear for himself but a fear that if he died, she would likely be thrown back to the bear, or worse. He lived to guarantee that that would never happen. Not for himself, not for Cersei. He'd lived for her. He looked down at Tyrion, a far-away look of remembrance in his eye.

"She was hurt and her captors would not relent. So I jumped in," he shrugged.

"You what?"

"I jumped into the pit. Got her out. And then she pulled me out."

"Gods…"

"I couldn't tell you. Or father. Or Cersei. I couldn't tell anyone. If Cersei ever found out that I'd lost my hand for another woman and then jumped between her and a bear –"

"She'd be dead." Jaime nodded as recognition dawned on Tyrion's face, "That day – at Joffrey's wedding. Cersei cornered her."

"Yes."

"That's why you sent her away, isn't it? When you took care of Pod. The sword father had given you? You were afraid for her."

Jaime stared at the ground. "Yes."

Now of course there was no such threat. She was armed now, she was more than capable of defending herself and others, and he had no doubt that she could take on the night king himself and survive. And yet Jaime found himself worrying. There was something there he couldn't place.

"And now she's returned the favor?"

She had defended him from the queen yesterday even though his own stupid defensiveness was flagrantly at odds with her efforts. She valued his life more than he did. Just as he valued hers, he mused. "She's been saving me for a long time now."

Tyrion studied his brother's face and watched as his eyes sought her out again.

"She's commanding the left flank."

Jaime turned back to his brother, his head cocked. Tyrion was looking away, feigning indifference.

"Jon wanted her to stay inside and protect the women, but Sansa insisted that Lady Brienne be given her own command. Have you been given a post yet?"

Jaime shook his head and looked back out over the grounds.

"Well best seek that out now – surely you don't want to be stuck in the crypts with the screaming babes all night."

Jaime nodded, barely acknowledging his brother, and started walking away.

Tyrion smiled to himself and watched his brother all but float down the stairs.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Mumford & Sons' "I Will Wait" (C) 2012.


	18. Book 2, Ch 5: The Commander

_Look to the past_, Bran had said to him, _You'd still be that man if you hadn't pushed me out of that window. _As soon as Tyrion told him that Brienne was going to be commanding part of the forces, something had clicked for Jaime. Bran was right – if he hadn't pushed him, Catelyn Stark would not have forged a path south. She would not have gone to treat with Renley and, after his murder, take Brienne into her service. She would not have been there to stop the Karstarks from murdering Jaime. And if he'd never met Brienne - _The only guarantees in this world are in the past_.

Yes, he thought as he descended the steps to the yard, he would have been that same man had it not been for Brienne. Cold to the world and loyal to someone who could be loyal only to herself. He might still have both hands, but he would be a weak, empty man without her influence. Slowly he felt the grip of guilt start to melt away – everything he had done to this point, even that which he'd done in Cersei's name – all the weak, cruel, terrible things he'd done – had led him back.

Even if Bran could not outright forgive him, even if he truly did not deserve anyone's forgiveness, he could at least forgive himself knowing it had led to this moment – knowing that it would allow him to fight by the side of the woman he trusted most in this world. He walked through the gate and wound his way around the trenches in search of her.

* * *

Brienne had slept poorly and risen late that morning. She'd spent a long time watching the fire die, anxious for Jaime but not comprehending why. True, Jaime's friendship had irreparably changed her –he believed in her in a way that no one else ever had, and being in his presence made her feel inexplicably whole. That, she told herself, was why she'd defended him, why she would have fought everyone in that hall for him if Daenerys had forced her to.

But to what end? No matter how much she cared for him, he always wound up back at Cersei's side. Whether it was out of real love for her or a dependence rooted in the self-hatred she knew him to harbor, it was hard to tell.

He'd been curt with her in the capital, treating her humanely only once his sister had called her false truce. Even now when he'd ridden himself ragged to join the north she'd seen him raise his chin in defiance at the mention of her. He always returned to his queen in the end.

As she dressed she found herself stroking her steely blue armor, feeling for nicks and dents. If they survived this battle, she would need something new. It might last a while longer but the less she had to remind her of the man, the better.

_Know what we've seen_

And yet. She found herself looking for him in the hall, and in the yard. When she joined Pod on the makeshift training grounds Pod had only nodded and continued sparring. She found herself distracted from the training and cursed Jaime under her breath even as she scanned the grounds for the sight of him. He could have stayed in the south and avoided her there. It would make his return to his sister quicker too. Was it possible, she thought wryly, that he so enjoyed antagonizing her that he'd ridden for weeks just to do it here in Winterfell?

She turned to watch Podrick working with a northern brat who'd been too young to fight in King Robb's war and needed conditioning. She took pride in Pod - they'd been through much together and he had grown so much under her tutelage, taking to her like the younger brother she'd never had. She watched him barking orders at the lad and smiled to herself. Podrick would make a fine knight one day.

She felt the man approach before she saw him – at least her senses had not been dulled by the cold, she thought, even as that familiar knot in her stomach seemed to tighten, her smile evaporating. She glanced to her right and spotted his garish golden hand poking out of the unfamiliar cloak and met his eyes just for a moment in greeting before looking away. His expression was warm, and his good arm just brushed hers as she turned back to Podrick and his adversary.

They watched in silence as the younger man managed to best Pod for the first time, Podrick scowling and daring him to do it again. She chanced a sidelong glance at Jaime and could see that he was watching the squire with admiration. Just then, he turned toward her, and she braced herself for one of his verbal jabs that she was so accustomed to, cursing herself for walking into it.

"He's come a long way."

She didn't expect the compliment. _I'm proud of you_, he'd said at Riverrun. The effect was the same. But she knew him well enough to anticipate some snide remark to follow, and she wasn't ready to let him have the last word…and he was standing too close.

"He's alright," she said, trying to beat him to the joke and turning on her heel, "he still has a lot to learn," she tossed over her shoulder. She hadn't really expected him to follow her.

"I'm sure you'll teach him."

She looked back at him, but kept moving hoping to put some distance between them before he could injure her with whatever cruel joke of his was lying beneath.

"I've been told you're commanding the left flank."

Thank the gods, she thought to herself, at least strategy could be impersonal. "I am. It's uh, it's good ground," she said, pointing in the direction of the hill. "The rise, it should give us some advantage. If we can keep a tight formation, we might be able to beat them back."

"Yes, I think you're right." Jaime said almost too quickly.

_And him with less_

He was too agreeable, too pleasant. The last time he'd used this particular tone with her, he'd given her a sword and sent her thousands of miles away. Her heart was suddenly beating out of her chest as she rounded on him.

"What are you doing?!"

"What?"

"I think you know." He was trying to leave, she was certain of it. He'd only ever been complimentary when trying to get rid of her.

"I truly don't."

She was going to have to spell it out. "We have never had a conversation last this long without you insulting me, not once." It wasn't true, but it would make her point for her.

"You want me to insult you?!"

"No!"

"Good!"

She looked away from him, unable to meet his eyes even as he stared at her. _Fuck loyalty _chanted like a mantra in her head. If he was going to leave, better he do it now.

_Now in some way  
Shake the excess_

"I came to Winterfell because – " she looked back at him, and his eyes bore into hers as if trying to silently communicate when the words wouldn't come.

Even as he stood before her struggling with his thoughts, she could envision his younger, sometimes more haggard, self – that look on his face every time they'd parted: when he'd left her behind at Harrenhal, when he'd sent her away from King's Landing, when he'd stood on the wall at Riverrun and guarded their escape, and when he'd looked back over his shoulder at her on his return to the Red Keep after Cersei had promised aid to the north. She silently compared his current apparent turmoil with each moment, trying to read the signs, to steel herself for the inevitable.

But he didn't finish the thought. Instead, his expression softened and he leaned in, nearly whispering, "I'm not the fighter I used to be. But I'd be honored to serve under your command, if you'll have me." Brienne stared at him in shock, searching his eyes and waiting for a jape that would never land. He was in earnest. He wasn't going anywhere. He was ready to stay and fight by her side as she had promised Sansa they would, ready to die by her side if fate so dictated. Suddenly, the bitterness that she'd allowed to creep in dissipated. She nodded in assent and when she met his eyes again there was feeling there that she'd not anticipated and they both sucked in a sharp breath simultaneously. Gradually she became aware of the clanging of swords around them.

"I better get back," she said numbly, and he stepped aside to let her pass back the way they'd come. She walked past him and all the way back to where Podrick was resting between combatants, forcing her eyes forward the whole way.

* * *

Jaime watched her go. He could see that she'd expected less of him, and that his declaration had managed to stun her. In the past he might have been offended at her anticipated disappointment, even while recognizing that he likely deserved it. But now he was inclined to not let it bother him. The past was irrelevant All he could do now in the present was continue to prove to her that he was worthy of her trust. And if there was a future beyond this fight, he swore silently, he would strive to never give her a reason to walk away from him again.

He observed her with Podrick from a distance for a few moments longer before deciding to head back to the castle to find some occupation for himself. He'd walked back along the path he'd taken with her and had almost passed Pod's sparring ground when a horn sounded in the distance.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Mumford & Sons' "I Will Wait" (C) 2012.


	19. Book 2, Ch 6: The Arrival

Jaime quickened his step and made for the castle. He stopped at the side gate and saw Jon Snow a few feet away, being embraced by a wild man with flaming red hair. They were surrounded by other men clearly known to Jon, but strangers to Jaime. He watched as the fiery bear of a man said something to Jon that took him aback. Then he turned and scanned the castle behind him, "The big woman still here?" he'd said rather audibly, his gruff voice echoing.

Jaime cocked his head, but hadn't had a chance to consider the meaning behind that question before his thoughts were interrupted by sounds of scuffling metal behind him. He turned to find no one there, but on completing the circle found Brienne just next to him, having flattened herself against the side of the gate wall, with a familiar look of distaste marring her face as she stared at the ground. He gathered that she must have been just behind him as he'd returned to the castle, and had been alarmed by the sight of the new arrivals – had she heard the wild man's question? And who was she to him?

He looked away from her, chancing a glance back around the corner into the yard and saw that Jon and the party of newcomers were now walking away from them toward the great hall.

He turned back to Brienne and shrugged, "All clear," and watched as she collected herself, nodding and stepping away from the wall, regarding him carefully.

"Tormund was at the wall – he'll have news of the dead. I imagine they'll be here quite soon," she said, staring up at the sky to assess the remaining daylight.

Tormund, was it? Jaime thought. He wanted to ask then what her familiarity with the wild man was, but he wasn't going to risk his luck now. At least she was speaking to him. "We should bring everyone inside the walls."

She started, staring at him as if unsure as to which one of them had spoken, their thoughts in tune.

_'Cause I will wait, I will wait for you_

She nodded.

"How can I help?" he asked, shoulders squaring, ready to serve her.

She looked out at the grounds, then back at him, gentler this time. She knew the northerners on the grounds wouldn't listen to him. "Find the maester – tell him that I've asked that the bells be rung. He'll understand. Pod and I will collect the stragglers."

Jaime nodded and turned to set off on his task.

"Ser Jaime?"

He spun back around.

"Once the gates have closed, I expect Lord Snow will wish to strategize – wait for me in the yard and I'll fetch you before the meeting convenes."

He looked up at her curiously, "I don't think Lord Snow will welcome my council."

"But your brother will," she said, surveying the ground. Slowly her eyes rose to meet his again, quietly but firmly adding "And I do."

The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly at this and he nodded, watching her. "As you command, my lady," he stated without an ounce of jest. And before she could interject with one of her regular denials, he'd turned and disappeared around the corner in search of the maester.

Brienne took a deep breath. Jaime was right, she mused as she headed back toward Podrick, most of those present at the war council would prefer to shun him, and that was if they were lucky. But despite their hatred, Jaime was more experienced in leading a charge than most of them, and experience was a valuable commodity that they were running low on.

It wasn't long after she'd reached Pod that the bells rang out and the ill-prepared men and women of the north made their slow retreat into the castle – for many, it would be for the last time.

* * *

Once the gates were closed and Pod had been set to the task of assisting the armorers in fitting some of the younger men, Brienne surveyed the yard in search of Jaime. Ser Davos had found her moments before and confirmed that there was indeed a war council being called, and that she should make haste.

She finally spotted Jaime just inside the smithy with his back to her, admiring some of Gendry's handiwork. She stopped and watched the two of them, smiling to herself. She'd suspected that the younger man was a Baratheon the moment she'd laid eyes on him, a suspicion later confirmed in confidence by Ser Davos. There was no mistaking the southern bastard's eyes – Renly's, she'd thought – those warm brown eyes that she'd had such affection for, but which had been almost forgotten now, replaced in her heart.

_And I will wait, I will wait for you_

Gendry caught sight of her and raised his brow in surprise, "Milady." Jaime turned just in time to catch her smile as it sank back into hiding.

She looked to him, "It's time."

Jaime offered a friendly nod to Gendry and then followed Brienne across the yard and down a long winding corridor to the small library that had been repurposed as a war room. The smaller tables had been pulled together into the center, a large map spread out across them and lit with low candles, a fire blazing in the hearth.

As they entered, Brienne nodded to those already assembled and watched many of their faces shift to glares at the sight of Jaime striding in behind her. She moved to the far side of the table, being sure to keep herself between him and Alys Karstark, whom she knew had ample reason to mistrust him.

The room filled up behind them and warmed just as quickly. One of the last to enter was Tormund Giantsbane, who set his fists on the table to their left and leaned over the candles to peer at her, casting his face in a terrifying light and making his beard seem to glow. She did her best to ignore him as usual, knowing that he was harmless, yet thankful to have at least one other body between them. But as the room settled she noted that Jaime was shifting, likely imperceptibly to all but her, so that his arm was now behind his pommel, making it easier for his left hand to reach it if necessary.

"Don't," she muttered so that only he would hear.

He gave her a questioning sidelong glance, catching her furrowed brow, and he found himself wondering again what the story was there. But she quickly looked away as if studying the pieces on the map.

Jaime slowly shrugged and lowered his arm back in front of the sword as if he were simply adjusting his cloak. When he looked up, Tyrion caught his eye with a bemused expression. Jaime scowled and looked away just as Jon cleared his throat and began.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Mumford & Sons' "I Will Wait" (C) 2012.


	20. Book 2, Ch 7: The Knight

Jaime sat by the fire in the great hall with his brother, mired in thoughts of death. "What can we do?" He'd asked Jon – the answer had not been reassuring.

After the council was ended, Brienne had dismissed him saying she needed to check on Podrick. She was around a corner and gone from sight before he could even respond. Tormund Giantsbane had then passed him in the hall, looking like he might follow Brienne, but then got pulled aside by one of the others. Had he continued, Jaime knew he would have followed him, even knowing he might not like the end of that journey. "We're all going to die," the giant had said, then leaning past him toward Brienne, "but at least we'll die together." Jaime had wanted to hit him then, but he remembered Brienne's hushed warning and stopped himself.

_And I will wait, I will wait for you_

He'd wandered the halls until he'd found the kitchens where he arranged for wine to be brought up to the great hall. He wasn't about to spend his last hours in the cold, and he certainly wasn't going to be able to sleep just now. His mind was spinning. He'd been racing towards death for so long that he'd nearly forgotten what it was like to want to live, to truly want to go on living.

Getting back to Cersei, succeeding for Cersei, had always been about purpose – something his father had instilled in, no – forced on, him from an early age. Everything he did was meant to be for the family. And if he didn't succeed or never came back, it would be looked on as a failure, not a loss. It had warped his mind, he realized. Before Brienne, he'd never gone into a battle with hope – only purpose. Being apart from her seemed to sap whatever hope he had.

When he'd charged Daenerys and her dragon in the Reach, he'd thought only of serving his purpose in ending the war. He'd thought nothing of himself. Only after Bronn had knocked him into the river and he'd been sinking to the bottom in his heavy armor had he spared a thought for his life unlived, for Brienne.

He had been sitting there by the fire, sinking somewhat back into his past again, hating himself for letting his father and sister manipulate him, when Tyrion arrived carrying his own flagon.

"What a lively fete!" he exclaimed, looking about he empty room and going to set the wine down on the sideboard alongside Jaime's. He poured some into a cup and turned back to his brother, "What are we celebrating?"

Jaime stirred from his muddy thoughts as Tyrion dragged a chair over, and he shot his younger brother a sad smile, "The end of days, I think."

"Ah," nodded Tyrion, climbing onto the chair with his cup, "a personal favorite of yours, I believe." He raised his glass and took a sip.

"Not anymore."

Tyrion eyed his brother as he stared into the fire.

"I wish father were here."

Jaime shot his brother a look and Tyrion continued, straight-faced: "I would love to see the look on his face when he realizes his two sons are about to die defending Winterfell."

Jaime snorted with laughter and Tyrion smiled to himself, happy to have distracted his brother from whatever maudlin fantasies were flying through his head, if only momentarily.

"That would be something to see."

"I remember the first time we were here," started Tyrion, "the first time I saw this hall…you were a golden lion. I was a drunken whoremonger…it was all so simple."

Jaime gave his brother a sardonic smile, "It wasn't so simple," he said, staring into the fire as if he could conjure Cersei there burning in the flames, "I was sleeping with my sister, and you had one friend…who was sleeping with his sister."

"I was speaking in relative terms." Tyrion cursed himself – talk of Cersei was not going to drag Jaime out of his depression.

"Do you miss it?" asked Jaime, knowing that for him, that part of his life was well and truly over.

"Of course I miss it." Tyrion snapped.

"Well my golden lion days are done," Jaime retorted, teasing, "but whoremongering is still an option for you."

Tyrion sighed, he knew too much of the world now, he'd seen too much pain and exploitation. He could never be that man again. "It's not…things would be easier if it were." He blinked and looked back to his brother, raising his glass, "The perils of self-betterment."

Jaime smiled and raised his cup. His brother was right – running toward death would always be easier if he was able to slip back into the shell of a man he'd been, but having something to live for made that impossible.

_And I will wait, I will wait for you_

He raised his cup to his brother and made to drink when the doors to the hall clattered open. He turned in his seat and his heart leapt into his throat at the sight of Brienne entering the hall as Pod closed the door to the wind. "Oh!" He jumped out of his seat, "My lady."

Tyrion cocked his brow at his brother, studying him, then turned to the newcomers.

Brienne's voice echoed in the near-empty hall as Jaime's eyes locked on hers and she, his, "Oh! We didn't mean to interrupt. We were just looking for somewhere warm to-"

"- to contemplate your imminent death. You've come to the right place," finished Tyrion as he got down from his chair. He turned to the sideboard and addressed his former squire who was grinning ear to ear. He could always count on Podrick Payne to enjoy his wit, "You want some of this piss? It's not bad. It's not good either."

Pod moved to join Tyrion, "Thank you, my lord."

Brienne broke the stare to admonish her squire, warning that the battle could start at any moment, but she gave in when she saw Tyrion roll his eyes. Far be it from her to keep him from enjoyment on what might be the last night for all of them.

Tyrion called over to her, "And you?"

"No," she said gently, tearing her eyes from Jaime, "thank you, I should try to get some sleep." Truthfully, she had no desire to leave. When she and Pod had departed the courtyard, she'd sought him out, but he was nowhere to be seen. Finally they'd given in to the cold and headed for the great hall where they could see that the hearth was lit. She would rather be here with Jaime than anywhere else. But she also knew that staying would make the battle to come much harder. She should go.

But Jaime had already crossed the room to retrieve an additional chair for her and was carrying it to the fire. She was there now, and he was not prepared to let her out of his sight. "You really think any of us are going to sleep tonight?" He set the chair down. "Join us," he urged.

He was right, even if she held her ground and went up to her chamber, her thoughts would likely still be here in this room, keeping her up. "Alright," she conceded to him, then looked to Tyrion, "Just a bit for me," and moved to sit in the chair that Jaime had set down for her. Tyrion approached her with a cup of wine that was nearly full and gave her a knowing grin. She grinned back sheepishly and accepted the cup. Tyrion looked past her as a voice rang out.

"Well what do we have here?"

"Ser Davos," Tyrion nodded, "join us."

Jaime looked to Brienne as Davos begged off and then positioned himself in front of the fire to warm himself, but then Jaime spotted movement behind her. The giant wildling was looming in the doorway, his eyes set on the back of Brienne's head. Jaime did the first thing he could think to do – he sat in the chair directly next to Brienne, ensuring that Tormund Giantsbane would not have the opportunity.

_Now I'll be bold  
_  
The next several minutes passed strangely. Jaime wished he'd drunk more of the wine before Tormund had begun his origin story. And he wished she'd spotted the chair in the corner before the man had walked in – he would have chucked it into the cold to keep the man further away.

"They call you King Killer," the man had challenged him. He'd been entirely focused on Brienne from the moment he'd entered the room, until he'd seen her exchanging glances with Jaime; then the giant had honed in on him. He chuckled to himself at the thought.

Yes, the wildling seemed to relish talking about himself. He'd done his best to not laugh outright at him, but the glances of those around him did not help. Pod kept the straightest face, and even that was bemused at best. Tyrion and Davos' faces were both distorted in pain as they held in their laughter. And Brienne had looked back at Jaime askance several times, causing his heart to race every time with the knowledge that she found the man to be as strange as he did.

_As well as strong_

The wind whistled through the hall, the candles flickering. Tyrion was waxing eloquent on their impending deaths again, much to their chagrin.

"At least we'll die with honor," Brienne had countered, staring at the floor.

Jaime searched her face. Steadfast to the end. Braver than anyone he'd ever met. He felt his own fear start to evaporate, but then his thoughts were again interrupted by Tyrion.

"I think we might live."

They all scoffed at him as he started rattling off the achievements of the room. Jaime shook his head and stood up to replenish his drink.

Tyrion moved on to Brienne. "Ser Brienne of Tarth. Defeated the Hound in – Pardon me…Lady Brienne."

Jaime heard the exchange behind him and bristled when she told Tormund that women couldn't be knights. "Fuck tradition," the giant had said in response. The wildling had finally said something that Jaime agreed with. _Fuck loyalty. Fuck tradition_. They might all be dead tomorrow...and as far as Jaime was concerned, Brienne deserved every honor possible.

"I don't even want to be a knight," Brienne lied dismissively.

If she'd declared that she wanted to be queen, he would tear down the Red Keep itself to see her crowned. But she'd never had such aspirations. Despite what she was saying now, he knew that Brienne had only ever wanted to be a knight. And, it suddenly occurred to him, he had the power to do something about that. On the eve of all of their deaths, how could he deny her that honor? And how could he deny himself the opportunity for an inch of redemption.

_And use my head alongside my heart_

"You don't need a king," Jaime said in response to Tormund's most recent suggestive assertion. "Any knight can make another knight." He met her eyes. "I'll prove it."

He set down his cup and moved to the other end of the hall, drawing his sword and struggling to keep it from rattling against the stone floor as he held it out. He straightened his shoulders and turned to face her again.

"Kneel, Lady Brienne."

Brienne scoffed at him, sure that he was teasing her. He'd gone his entire stay at Winterfell thus far without doing so, it was only right that once they were drinking he would slip back into his old ways.

"Do you want to be a knight or not," he challenged her.

Her grin faded as she raised her eyes to him again. She could see that he was serious. She knew, of course, that he was right. Kings and Queens occasionally appointed knights as a matter of decorum, but in the field it was often knights themselves who bore the brunt of the work of creating the next generation. Jaime himself had been knighted by another knight.

"Kneel."

Her heart was already pounding against her ribcage as she looked to Podrick who encouraged her silently. And when she looked back to Jaime, her breath quickened. The way he was looking at her – she wanted to preserve it in her mind's eye forever. There was a patience there that she'd never seen before, and something else. She knew it couldn't quite be affection, not the way that men and women felt for each other, not the way that she admitted she felt for him whenever she saw him after a long separation. As she walked toward him, tears of disbelief building in her eyes, she recalled the look of surprise that had been on his face when she'd shown up at his camp at Riverrun – a guileless kind of open familiarity that had caused her anxieties to disappear.

_So take my flesh_

She took a knee and looked up at him, vaguely aware of the shifting of chairs by the fire as their companions stood to watch. She looked down at his hand holding Widow's Wail, the twin to her Oathkeeper and saw at once that his palm was sweating and he had to adjust his grip. As he lifted the sword, she focused on his other hand – the golden he wore as a result of protecting her all those years ago.

For Jaime, the rest of the world slipped away. He knew the words by heart, but the feeling in his chest nearly made him falter. The words were ceremony only - she already embodied and honored all the requirements that knighthood entailed. He lifted the sword, steadying it as best he could in his shaking sweaty hand.

As his sword brushed her shoulder, a wave of calm washed over her, a sensation akin to coming home.

_And fix my eyes_

"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave." _You are the bravest, most resilient person I've ever known. _

"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just." _Your sense of justice is my guiding light._

"In the name of the Mother, I charge you to protect the innocent." _You saved the Stark girls when no one else could. _

As the sword slid off her shoulder, she looked back up at Jaime, tears pooling in her eyes.

"Arise, Brienne of Tarth. A knight of the seven kingdoms."

She rose, her eyes never leaving his. He was beaming at her with a fierce pride, eyes shining, and she felt her entire body radiate with it. She could not recall ever having been this happy before. Being named to Renly's Kingsguard had come close, surely. But that memory, like his eyes, had all-but faded as she took in Jaime's face.

A thought fluttered through her head as a smile spread across her face. It wasn't just affection that she felt for him. She loved him. She'd batted away the idea so often over the years, making excuses for her appearance, reminding herself that it would never be reciprocated, that Cersei's grip on him was too strong, or that the distance between them was too wide. Until now, she'd never put any stock her own feelings. But she was a knight now, he'd done that for her, and they would all likely be dead tomorrow – if she couldn't admit her feelings to herself now, then when? She loved him.

_A tethered mind free from the lies _

When she smiled, it took every ounce of control Jaime had to not close the space between them. He had never seen something so radiant. He recognized then that this would probably be the most significant moment of his life – the moment he realized that he loved her, that he had found his happiness in hers.

Everything that had come before was gone from his mind, locked in the past. The guilt and the sorrow – none of it weighed on his heart anymore. All that mattered was her.

He broke eye contact with her only when he finally noticed that their companions were clapping and shouting. Celebrating her, he realized. She was still watching him when he looked back to her, silently thanking him. He nodded, and stepped back to the group, allowing her to bask in their applause as her smile grew even more, forgetting, if only for a moment, about the approaching chaos.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Mumford & Sons' "I Will Wait" (C) 2012.

**Thank you all for reading this longer chapter - it was enough material to be two, but I couldn't bring myself to break this scene up. Hope you enjoy!**


	21. Book 2, Ch 8: Hope

When Tormund left the hall to relieve himself, the others had used the opportunity to head to bed, even if only for a short time. They were out of wine and all immensely tired. Tyrion departed for the East wing while the Davos led the rest of the party upstairs. Podrick excused himself quickly and stumbled through the darkness toward his chamber. Davos watched him for a moment, then turned back to Brienne and Jaime whom, he observed, were at it again – the staring thing. Davos looked between them, seeing that they clearly didn't even realize he was there, and left without a word to them, calling after Pod to help him recall which door was his.

"Ser Jaime – " Brienne started in a low tone.

"We should both get some rest, Ser Brienne of Tarth," a smile played on his lips, "you may be a freshly-sworn knight but I don't spring back so easily these days, and we have quite the fight ahead of us."

She ignored him, "Jaime, what you did – "

"- no one has ever deserved it more," he interrupted fiercely, taking a step toward her and searching for her eyes in the dim light, "And it could not have waited another day. There may not be another day after this one. The only guarantees we have are in the past," he echoed, pausing to look at her sword.

When he lifted his eyes to find hers again, they captured him wholly. He took another step. "Brienne… I have little to offer," he said with some defeat, "I'm an old knight who changed sword hands mid-career and I've wasted my entire life being loyal to a viper who abused that loyalty, whose venom still flows through me in my weakest moments, and I've done terrible things because of it. But I-"

"You're a good man, Jaime," she interjected. "An honorable man. She does not define you."

He nodded, "I'm starting to believe that." He smiled sadly. He was close enough now to watch as her face turned to worry and looking to the ground, moving him to quickly add, "I'm done with her, done with the past. Today is all we have... fighting for the living, fighting by your side may be the second-most honorable thing I've ever done, and I am determined to make the most of it."

"Only Second?" she teased, looking back up at him, the fog of her breath filling the space between them.

The look she was giving him made Jaime's pulse quicken. He wanted to take that last step, to hold her face in his hand and swear every oath possible to her.

Instead he sighed and nodded, "No matter what happens now, even if I became that weak man again, even if I die today, I will have at least lived long enough to have done one permanent and truly honorable thing in this world in making you a knight. You, more than anyone, deserve the respect demanded by that title, and having it ensures that others will forever see you as I do. As the best of us all."

They were both near tears again, awash in exhaustion, wine, and mutual feeling.

_And I'll kneel down  
Wait for now_

"I hope that there is," she said finally, her voice wavering.

"Is what?"

"A day after this one."

"As do I," he agreed sadly, his voice breaking. There was that hope he'd been craving, that light shining in the darkness, showing him the way. He took a step back, "Rest. You know the dead won't." He held her glance for another moment, cementing it in his mind before nodding and turning toward his door.

"You're stronger than you think you are," she muttered to his back through the darkness.

"I hope you're right," he whispered over his shoulder, afraid to look at her again. He waited until he heard her door shut with a thud before entering his own chamber. As he closed the door behind him, he pressed his back to it and sank to the ground. Unbeknownst to him, she'd done the same on the other side of the hall. Neither slept much.

When the horns sounded, Brienne rose from the floor and stretched her limbs. It was still dark, and an uneasy chill hung in the air. She fed the fire and adjusted her armor. Then, clutching Oathkeeper, she said a prayer to the Warrior.

When she opened her door, Jaime was standing at attention across the dark hall, his door having just closed behind him. She nodded to him and preceded him down the stairs.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Mumford & Sons' "I Will Wait" (C) 2012.


	22. Book 2, Ch 9: The Walls

The Dothraki fell first. Only Ser Jorah and a handful of the stronger horsemen had returned, bruised and bloody, to the castle; the rest were thought lost. Brienne had thought that they might be able to beat them back on the crest of the hill, but the enemy was obviously quicker and deadlier than anyone imagined they could be – even those that had fought them before were alarmed by the destruction of the Dothraki army.

The sky was black, the crescent moon offering just enough light to see each other's fear. They could only rely on their hearing to sense the approach of the masses, and when they did the roar was deafening.

Brienne eyed Podrick. Constant Podrick. He would stick to her side as much as possible, she knew. He was alright fighting on his own, but his instinct to defend her made him fiercer.

She turned to Jaime. The uncertainty and fear she saw in his face turned to resoluteness as he met her gaze.

He nodded to her and tightened his grip on his sword. As the sounds of the dead got closer, he watched her strike a defensive pose, and he felt himself mimic her. When the masses attacked, the onslaught was endless.

Jaime felt himself being beaten on all sides, his sword swinging blindly. Through the grunts and screams of the melee, he tried to listen for the sounds of the living around him so as to avoid clashing with his compatriots, but the crush of the dead was astounding and it was all he could do to stay upright.

To his left, he thought he heard her cry out. He took down a wight and turned to try and focus on the sounds of her distress in the near-darkness, when her scream rang out, chilling his blood.

_I'll kneel down_

He pushed living and dead out of his way to reach her, finally seeing her disappearing under a handful of corpses. He raced to her and pulled one, then another, then another wight off of her, slashing each with Widow's Wail in turn until he could see that she was dispensing with the other two from her position on the ground. He reached down to pull her up and she was looking past him in shock, eyes glowing.

He felt the heat behind him and spun around to see that Daenerys' dragon was cutting a fiery path through the dead, destroying hundreds at a time – just as she'd done with the Lannister army in the Reach.

A wight ran at him through the smoke and he sliced it in two. He heard Brienne's grunts just behind him and realized that she had stood and they were now guarding each other's backs. Even with fire and destruction of their ranks, the dead did not stop coming at them. Although the fires lent light to the battle, the smoke was dangerously thick.

"If we stay out here, we'll wind up joining them!" Yelled Brienne at his back.

He stopped a dead man coming at them from the side and spun to face her. "Let's go!"

"Fall back!" she screamed, his yells echoing hers, sounding the retreat.

They ran for the castle, the crush of the living only a shade better than that of the dead. That gates opened before them and the living rushed in. Brienne found purchase just inside and urged the troops to move faster, looking for Pod and Jaime, having lost sight of them as they'd run. She spotted Pod crossing the threshold and pulled him to the side, gripping his shoulder. He was whole, thank the gods. She pushed him further into the castle and spun back toward the entrance, searching.

Jaime was already beyond her position directing soldiers to recovery or defense, sending them up to the tops of the walls if they were still able-bodied. He caught sight of Brienne edging back towards the gate and called out to her, but the sounds of the battle drowned him out. He sheathed his sword so as to avoid dropping it as he pushed his way through the throng.

Lyanna Mormont was commanding her men to close the gates just as Brienne reached them. She was quickly running out of time and, for all she knew, that meant that Jaime was too. She knew she shouldn't venture further, that she should stay back and command her men in defense of the castle, but she couldn't stop her frantic feet. Her hand was on the gate door when she thought she heard her name and started to turn back. But then someone yanked her backwards by the elbow. She stumbled and put her arm out, catching herself on Jaime's shoulder, gasping.

_Know my ground_

He cupped his hand near her ear and raised his mouth to it to shout over the din, "What are you doing?"

She blinked at him through smoke, "I thought – "

They heard shouting from the top of the gate she looked up, dropping her hand from him to her sword just as another blast of warmth hit them, the dragon screeching as it flew off again.

"Brienne!" She looked back at him, "We have to man the walls!"

"Go!" she yelled, then spun to call the troops to her.

Jaime ran deeper into the courtyard and sent the stragglers up the steps. Pod ran to him, a look of panic in his eyes. Jaime grabbed his arm, "Pod, your sword?" Podrick shook his head – he'd lost it in the melee. Jaime drew the dragonglass dagger from his belt and held it flat to Pod's chest. "Take it – go! You're needed on the wall." Pod straightened his shoulders and ran for the steps.

The Unsullied were doing all they could to protect the retreat and now that the gates had closed they had pulled themselves back behind the trenches. Ser Davos, positioned furthest from the fight - where the north and western wall met, tried to signal Daenerys and Jon on the dragons overhead but the mix of fog and smoke had made it impossible for them to see the signal, even when they were close.

The northerners had been waiting in semi darkness with the glow of burning wights giving them their only sense of distance, the din still chaotic, when the trenches burst into flames as if lit from within. The fires cast a ghastly glow on the faces of the men surrounding Brienne and she glanced at each of them in turn wondering just how many would survive the night.

Jaime peered over the wall and watched as the wights seemed to dive directly into the fire unabated, screaming and writhing as they burned. But then any hope he'd harbored turned to dust; as the wights fell in groups across the fiery trench, the fire was quenched creating a path for those behind them to infiltrate the burning perimeter.

"They're at the wall!" he yelled to the archers, calling them to alter their focus and then crossed the parapet placing men in staggered positions at each opening. If arrows couldn't arrest the progression, and if the dragon glass welded to the castle walls did not manage to hinder them, then the dead would be upon them soon.

Brienne stared in horror as the wights crossed their lines and began scaling the walls, arrows loosed by the archers falling helpless into the swelling masses below. "They're climbing! Hold your positions! Do not let them through!" She took a spot at the center of the parapet behind her men, sword drawn and ready.

They reached the top of the eastern wall first. Gendry dropped his hammer on the first of them, shattering the skull and sending the pieces raining down onto the reanimated bodies below. Tormund grabbed two of them at once and smashed their heads together, throwing them off.

They came quickly then. The men and women of the eastern wall beat them back viciously but they were being replaced too quickly and climbing much too fast. One of the men was grabbed and pulled off the wall screaming. Others stepped forward to replace him but the hesitation in it was enough to let two of the wights reach the top and climb over. Jaime took them on himself, dispatching the first easily enough with his blade, but the second pinned him. He struggled to push it off, but then realized he was no longer fighting one corpse but three and they had him shoved up against the edge of the wall. They tore at his armor as he struggled against them. One managed to reach skin and dug its dead nails into his right forearm, just above the leather straps to his hand.

He screamed.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Mumford & Sons' "I Will Wait" (C) 2012.


	23. Book 2, Ch 10: The Dead

The southern wall was under attack.

Brienne had to mop her brow with every other kill, sweat stinging her eyes even as it ran down the back of her neck and froze. The wights continued to climb and breach the wall only to be pushed back. She watched as Podrick twisted his blade in another wight's glowing eye, tossing it off the battlements. As he pulled the blade back, Brienne realized he wasn't using his sword. She looked around at the bodies surrounding them and spotted a shortsword. She called to Podrick and tossed it to him. He caught it in his left hand and, crossing his arms, used a scissoring motion to decapitate a corpse that had just reached the top of the wall. Brienne took a step back, impressed, wondering if she had taught him that and then crouched as a handful of wights broke through and clambered up.

Suddenly there was a scream from the eastern wall that made her heart lurch.

_Raise my hands_

She cut through every wight on the southern battlements, grunting with each kill, desperate to get to him. _Even if I die today_, he'd said. Not today, she thought.

She reached the tower that joined the two walls and was met by four more running corpses - the eastern wall was clearly under heavier onslaught - and wasted no time slashing at them and knocking them off the top of the wall. She knew her limbs should be aching by now but she felt none of it as she strained to reach Jaime, using his shouts to guide her path.

_Paint my spirit gold_

Finally reaching the eastern wall, she found him struggling and yelling beneath a mass of corpses. She took the head off the closest one, who then crumbled. She stepped over the body and charged the two who had pinned his chest, knocking them down and then moving past him to destroy them.

With his sword arm finally freed thanks to Brienne's charge, Jaime split the one who'd torn through his arm, from top to bottom, the halves curling and falling over opposite sides of the parapet. His eyes found Brienne still battling one of his attackers. He found a new well of strength in her and spun in the other direction to protect her back as more of the dead reached the top. If anyone could have seen the two of them through the smoke – their steps in sync, the twin halves of Ned Stark's sword flashing and singing in the firelight, back at last in the service of his home - one might have thought that they had rehearsed this fight, that they had trained for years to perfect their connection. And, in a way, they had.

_And bow my head_

As smoke from the burning trenches thickened and rose Jaime fought off the last wight he could see. The roar below carried on but the men on the wall were mostly keeping the enemy at bay. On his final blow, Jaime spun around to see Brienne facing him and his eyes went wide.

Brienne had finished off Jaime's last attacker and turned, thankful to find him alive, but through the haze she could see that his gold hand was glazed in crimson. The dead did not bleed, so it had to be is. As he spun to face her, she reached for his arm but he pulled it back, eyes wide, screaming "Look out!" She dove out of the way just as a wight charged through the space where she had just stood with a spear. Jaime cut the dead thing down and launched it off of the wall.

Brienne was panting, crouched low to the ground, when Jaime turned back around to her. She seemed to be listening for something, then she looked back at the southern wall and saw the dead cascading off of it, landing awkwardly but still moving in the courtyard below. The fighters on the southern wall were unable to stop them, try as they might. She saw Podrick make for the stairs and leap from halfway down into the yard and begin attacking them again.

Then Jaime was at her side, watching the dead charge in. She reached for the golden hand again and found the blood there tacky but not flowing.

Jaime pulled the injured arm back again and helped her up with the left. "I'll be fine. It's not as if it could get worse."

She gave him a withering and worried glance, and he turned away not wanting her to see the amusement he'd managed to find in her face in the midst of their all-but certain death.

"We have to get below," she said, "it's the only place we can really make a stand now. There's no stopping them."

He stared into the yard, calculating, then met her eyes again, "If we can position ourselves against the westerly wall, it'll keep them from coming at us from all sides."

Brienne looked to where he was pointing – it was an acute enough corner – if they could get there they could fan out and wear them down without being assaulted from the back as well, and there was no gate there to be concerned with. But if they kept coming this quickly they'd be crushed. She spied Podrick standing atop a growing pile of bones near that spot. If they could reach him before the gates fell, the three of them could hold that corner together. She thought of the Blackfish, of his dedication to fighting for his home. Brienne hadn't been back to Tarth in a very long time, and Winterfell was Sansa's home, not Brienne's. She'd been unmoored for some time. But taking this stand and fighting til the end with Jaime and with Podrick, both home to her in many ways, that felt right. She nodded and they flew down the steps, making for the clearing in the corner, reaching Pod just before the dead giant crashed through the gates and encountered Lady Mormont.

* * *

The dead were everywhere then, rushing in from the gate, raining down from above, but Jaime had been right – that position afforded them a level of advantage, having nothing attacking them from behind, and having the sharpened spikes before them, slowing the onslaught. The disadvantage was that they truly had nowhere to go.

To their surprise, it wasn't long before the stream of walking bodies seemed to slow to a trickle. Jaime's good arm was sore, his bad arm bleeding again. Every time he wiped his face, he wound up dirtier and bloodier. Podrick had perfected fighting with both weapons and had taken to slicing through the wights even after they had fallen, just to be sure, and though the dead had slowed he kept up this practice.

Brienne looked around and realized the fighting had stopped – not a soul was moving in the courtyard. She could see some of their friends through the smoke, equally surprised by this. Had they won? Was it over? Podrick felt exhaustion sink into his feet but he kicked the nearest body to show himself that he was ready if the fighting began again. He didn't have to wait long.

The body that Podrick had kicked stirred. Jaime watched in shock as all of the fallen soldiers that surrounded them began to rise. All those who'd fallen fighting bravely for the living had now been recruited to the army of the dead. They opened their eyes, glowing white-blue embers, and rose from the ground.

"Steady."

Jaime whipped his head toward her. She was clutching Oathkeeper, flexing the fingers on her other hand and stretching her neck. She looked at him and he saw a defiant sadness in her eyes. She looked past him at Pod.

"Steady. They are no longer ours. Let us be sure that they do not remain theirs either." And with that, she hefted the sword over her shoulder and began striking them down.

* * *

Brienne's back ached as her armor dug into it. The freshly dead were stronger than the skeletons they'd fought in the field and on the walls. She'd now been knocked against the stones more times than she could count. Podrick and Jaime still stood with her, but they too were feeling the exhaustion of the endless battle.

Now one of the dead Dothraki had her pinned to the stones, trying to claw at her armor as she fought to slice her sword through his belly with more and more dead men crowding them. She could no longer see Podrick, but when she last had, he'd suffered a blade across one cheek and he'd cut a terrifying figure as he fought off the ghosts with his face drenched in blood.

The dead man was now pounding her shoulder into the wall and she felt her head hit as well, going dizzy, then refocusing with as much strength as she could muster, but her will to fight was suffering. She searched for Jaime's face and heard a crash to her left. He'd been pinned to the wall as well, two dead Northmen trying to scrape and bite at his face as he tried to swing at them with his metal hand.

_Keep my heart slow_

I'm going to die here, she thought as her arm uselessly strove for purchase against the wight. We're going to die right here. Jaime dodged another bite, his face coming into view for her again.

As he fought against them he caught sight of her struggling to keep a grip on the sword. "We have to keep fighting," he called urgently as he twisted his body against his attackers. She looked weakened and his gut churned with the idea that she could be injured, bleeding within her armor and not even realize it. Or worse – that her will to live was suffering. "Brienne! Listen to me! You have to keep going," he struggled for what to say as the dead pressed him against the wall, nearly taking him off his feet, "Please!" He turned to her desperately and met her glance with a firm finality, "Ser Brienne, " he gasped out, "your lady needs you. Sansa needs you, you have to keep fighting!"

At that, something clicked in Brienne's mind and she felt her body shake as her feet found solid purchase. She shoved the Dothraki back and swiped her sword through the air, catching the dead man across the chest. As he crumpled she fought off two more wights behind him then, the ache in her back and arms gone. She spun around and, accentuating each word with a thrust of her sword, she took on the dead that had pinned Jaime down: "I. Am Not. Fighting. For. Sansa!" she screamed. With the Northmen cut down and Jaime free from the crush of the stones she turned around again, the sword shining as she held it high over her heard, daring the next man to attack.

Just then, the bodies all fell to pieces and stirred no more.

_'Cause I will wait, I will wait for you_

Brienne fell to her knees, onto the bodies, swaying and still gripping Oathkeeper with one hand. Jaime dropped his sword and went to her, supporting her from falling forward with his left hand, the golden hand at the back of her shoulder to steady her.

A stunned Podrick followed him in a daze, picking up Jaime's sword and then running to Brienne's other side. "My Lady?...Ser?"

Jaime looked down, checking for injuries or worrisome bleeding, but he only saw the bruises blooming across her face. "Brienne?"

_And I will wait, I will wait for you_

She blinked, escaping her daze, and looked up to find both of them standing over her. Automatically she clasped his hand to her shoulder. "I'm alright." She kept her eyes on him as he helped her to her feet, searching his face for signs of pain or injury, but he only nodded, still worrying over her. She turned to Pod as she sheathed her sword and looked him over as he handed Jaime's sword back to him.

He was still bleeding from the cut on his cheek, but otherwise he seemed to be in one piece. "We survived, my lady," he said quietly as if to not offend the dead surrounding them.

She nodded, then turned back to survey the destruction, knowing that they'd come so close to not making it. "We should check on the crypts."

Jaime nodded, "I know the way." And they followed slowly he crossed the courtyard, climbing over the fallen corpses.

_And I will wait, I will wait for you_

But before they could get much further, they were greeted by the sight of Tyrion and Sansa leading a ramshackle group of women – and Lord Varys – through the halls and into the yard, their faces aghast at the sight of the bodies.

Brienne went to the stunned Sansa who was trying to take in the sights before her and equate the ruin with her home, "Are you hurt, my Lady?"

Sansa glanced up at her, "No…no, I'm…well."

Tyrion offered his brother a sad grin as the looked about at the dead. He turned to Brienne gesturing to the left side of her face, "Ser Brienne, you should have the maester see to that bruise."

Brienne reached up and touched it gently and wincing, "I'm fine. Others will need the attention more. Podrick –" she turned back to him, "make sure you see that they patch up that cut." Then she looked back to Sansa who appeared confused by something, "My lady, I would prefer to rest now. I can be back on my feet in a few hours for whatever you have need of."

Sansa nodded, her face still quizzical, and Brienne walked away slowly, the exhaustion clouding her thoughts as she stumbled toward the steps. Sansa turned to Tyrion in her confusion, "_Ser_ Brienne?"

"Yes…a recent development."

"When did the queen see to that?"

Jaime smiled to himself, "Most knights are made by other knights, my lady." Sansa had nearly forgotten that Jaime was there and spun to him. She cocked her head as she noticed his grin, and blinked as she remembered that he was indeed a knight, himself. She stared at him in surprise, "_Did you-?!"_

"Yes," he said sheepishly, shrugging painfully.

Sansa regarded him with new appreciation, then looked in the direction that Brienne had headed. "Thank you for your service, _Ser_ Jaime. I'm afraid we'll need to call on everyone again soon to help remove the bodies. Make sure you see to your wounds," she said with a care he'd thought unlikely from Catelyn Stark's daughter.

"Thank you, my lady," he said with a tremor in his voice, bowing as low as his aching back would let him.

His brother clasped his arm, "Please – get some rest as well," he said with an encouraging nod.

Jaime returned it, then slowly shuffled toward the steps.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Mumford & Sons' "I Will Wait" (C) 2012.

**Writing about battles is hard AF.**


	24. Book 2, Ch 11: Tomorrow (Epilogue)

Jaime climbed the steps slowly, his knees twinging. The sooner he could be out of this armor the better. The leathers he wore had been Daven's. When he'd ridden north after seeing to the steward, they'd seemed fine - he'd slept in them even, when he did sleep. But after hours of swinging that sword his shoulders felt chafed and raw.

He'd need to see to replacements, he thought, chuckling to himself. Who could have known that he would survive the army of the dead, let alone be thinking of regular comforts? He spared a thought for Bran. The boy had been in the godswood during the battle - had he lived? If not they'd likely all be dead now anyway, so he must have. But whatever Bran had to say to him now could certainly wait.

When he reached the landing he put his thoughts of the Starks aside. Brienne was standing by her chamber door, supporting herself against it with one arm, her forehead pressed to the wood, facing away from him. She was slumped slightly and her hair was wet with sweat and blood and gods knew what else. She didn't stir as he approached.

He stepped around her as deliberately as he could, not wanting to startle her if she'd managed to fall asleep against the doors. Her eyes were closed, her right arm crossing her chest, hand resting on the lion pommel at her side. "Are you alright?" he whispered.

She opened her eyes, the left one swollen half-shut, and looked at him suspiciously, softening when she realized it was him. The only other expression she could manage was an upward turn at the right corner of her mouth. ""Exhausted. Considering sleeping right here in my armor."

"Wouldn't be the first time," he offered with a strained voice, a faded memory of her forcing its way to the forefront of his mind, "though standing would be different," he tried to jibe.

She tried to chuckle but it hurt too much. "No," she sighed. She'd slept in her armor every night on the road before they'd been taken by Locke and his men. And again last night. She had sunk to the floor the moment she was inside and didn't move until the horns sounded.

Only it hadn't been out of exhaustion. She had finally let the tears fall - the ones that had been threatening for hours, days now, perhaps years. Tears of joy for her newfound knighthood, mixed with more vulnerable tears of anxiety at finally admitting her feelings to herself, combined with the heaviest tears - the ones that belied her fears for him, and for them all.

"I can usually avoid it these days," she said, careful not to betray how recently she'd failed to do so. The addition of Podrick to her life had made that aspect of things easier. Someday, she thought, when she had the energy, she'd have to thank Jaime for saddling her with the boy. Her uninjured eye flew open in panic - she couldn't recall seeing Pod. She tried to straighten up against the door. "Where is Podrick?!"

Jaime hushed her with a wave of his hand like child, seeing that she was definitely past exhaustion. "He's fine. You told him to see the maester for that scratch on his face, remember?"

She sighed. "Yes of course." More like a gash, she thought, but she was too tired to argue the subject, or do much of anything for that matter. She pressed her head against the door again, and tried to reach for the lever. if she could make it to her bed she could at least get off her feet before she lost consciousness.

He eyed her and touched her arm lightly, arresting it, concerned that even if she made it into the room without falling over, which with her head on the door she was trying to open she was certainly risking, she might still try to sleep without dispensing with the muddy armor.

"Not sure how long he'll be…," he hesitated, "let me help?"

She had no wish to deny him. She nodded and pushed herself off of the door, holding onto the wall. He pushed the lever down and toed the door open for her, letting her lead the way and pushing the door to a close gently behind him. Once inside, he realized that the chamber lacked the chill of the hall, and he was surprised to see that a low fire still burned after all these hours. Brienne had moved toward the small table at the center of the room and was leaning on it for support.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the wide chair in the corner.

She shook her head, "No, if I sit in that chair, that will be the end of it." She removed her sword and hung the belt on the back of the chair, then started picking at the ties at one shoulder while he moved to work at the other, pulling the metal away almost effortlessly and set it down beside the chair. She studied him as he returned to her side. "You've gotten better at that," she said with some admiration.

He smiled weakly, taking the other pauldron from her. "Practice. All I had was time." He swallowed hard, recalling a darker time when he'd had no battles to fight but the ones in his head, the fires he'd put out with drink. Shaking them away, he helped her with the straps holding on the breastplate, removing it as well and laying it down while she picked at the ties on her boots. "Do you want help with those?" he asked.

"No, I'm fine," she grunted, "Throw a log on that fire though, will you?" She'd already kicked one boot off and was exhaling into a stretch of her weary foot.

He fed the fire and stirred it. He hadn't realized how frozen he'd been until now, the flames thawing his very bones. Before he could turn around again, he felt her pulling at the shoulder strap on his left and looked up at her in surprise, his breath catching.

Half of her face glowed in the firelight, framed by her hair which had fallen forward during the removal of her boots, the other half was covered in the dappled shadow of that bruise. The memory flashed across his mind again - her face and shoulders bruised and swollen after being beaten and held down by Locke's men, growling at him about his self-pity.

Now he desperately resisted the urge to reach up and push the hair from her brow and caress her mottled cheek believing that, even in her exhausted state, she would somehow find the strength to knock him to the ground. He had hoped, though not expected, to live. She'd imbued that in him. And now, he mused, she was stripping him of more than just armor. He knew his heart and he suspected that he knew hers as well. When she'd handled his armor at Riverrun it had been with a frustrated kind of efficiency. But now she was gentler - but was it just the exhaustion, he wondered? "You don't have to-"

"You helped me," she said weakly, moving to unbuckle his breastplate, ducking to avoid his eyes - the way he was gawking, she thought, the swelling must be worse than she thought, "…and I saw the blood," she moved to the right, "you're favoring this arm." Even in her tired state she thought she saw through him - he would likely go straight back to his room and not give a thought to his arm til morning, and by then it could be festering if the wound was bad enough.

He watched, shivering as she grasped the cuff that secured the hand to his wrist, rolling the torn leather strips of his sleeve back over it, and they hissed in unison at the sight of the claw marks and the dried blood that had soaked into everything. It looked gruesome, he admitted to himself, but the bleeding had stopped and the pain was manageable.

As she cocked her head to examine the marks, he could see the tips of her own claw marks peeking out from her collar – the watery scars where the bear had slashed the skin along her collarbone. When her fingers grazed the raw skin, his arm felt aflame and he stopped breathing altogether. She met his glance, her lip curling up, "I think you'll live."

His laugh came out as a sigh as she let go of his arm, a chill returning immediately. She bent to collect his gear and tied the straps together so that he could carry them both with one arm. She held the bundle out to him, and he took it with a grin. "I've never thought to do that, before, thank you."

She smiled sleepily at him, then yawned unexpectedly and glanced across the room at the bed.

Jaime took the cue for his dismissal, his legs now feeling heavy. "Get some sleep," he said looking towards the bed, wondering if he had the energy or even the desire to get to his own. "We'll still need our strength tomorrow."

Brienne met his glance again, recalling their last conversation before the battle, and sighed, struggling to steady her pulse, "Thank the gods there is one."

He took a deep breath and took a step back, gripping the armor hanging from his arm, anything to keep himself from reaching for her. "Sleep well, Brienne," he said softly.

She shivered at the sound of her name on his lips and wrapped her arms across her chest, willing her feet to stay put, offering him a half-smile, "Sleep well, Jaime."

He nodded and turned, opening the door to go. As he closed it behind him, he spared one more glance back and saw that she was shrugging out of her jerkin, her linen shirt clinging to her shoulders. He pulled the door closed and leaned against it, feeling the heat from her fire soothing his sore back.

Only once the sun had risen over the hills, bathing the hall in pale purple light, did he finally step away from the feel of her, retreating to his cold and solitary chamber across the hall.

_And I will wait, I will wait for you_

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Mumford & Sons' "I Will Wait" (C) 2012.

**Thank you SO much to everyone who's taken the time to read this saga so far - you're all so supportive and wonderful. **

**I'm still trying to figure out where this journey is going. I love these characters and for that reason I've tried to keep close to canon as much as possible, to make the in-between moments feel valid and necessary, filling in the gaps of my emotional understanding of them - in a lot of ways, it's a love letter to these characters. **

**Will this end as canon as it began? I don't rightly know yet. I do know that book 3 will, by necessity, exist adjacent to canon. Beyond that, I can't say. There are a lot of straight-up canon fics, and a ton of fix-it fics, and I'm still not sure where this will wind up living, nor do I really want to shoehorn it into one or the other. **

**So thank you for going on this ride with me and for your outstanding patience. Now that book 2 is complete, I can't promise daily updates but I'm going to be starting on book 3 very soon and I hope to not make you wait long for it. **


	25. YOU AND ME Book 3, Ch 1: The Bodies

Brienne stood on a hill of corpses. Winter had ended with the death of the Night King, and the sun shone through cloudless blue skies of spring, spreading the seeping stench of decay across the castle. But the smell hardly affected Brienne; she was on a mission - she'd lost something precious in the battle and was determined to dig it out.

She pulled at bodies one by one, dropping them to the side as she chased the center of the mound. Finally she spotted it, the snarling golden lion poking out from beneath the skeletal limbs. She pulled at the hilt but it wouldn't budge, as if it were lodged in marble. She tried to lift the bodies that surrounded it, but they were heavier than the others had been. So she went down on one knee and shoved them aside until she could see the Valyrian steel blade.

A small crowd gathered around – the Stark children, Tyrion, some of the wildlings…they formed a circle around the hill and watched as Brienne tried to free her sword.

She followed its length and saw that it had impaled one of the bodies and seemed to be caught on the spine somehow. She tried to wriggle the blade loose but the body would not give. She pushed more and more of the dead to the side until she could see the chest and neck of the victim - a woman without armor.

Brienne's brow tightened as she shifted the last body blocking the lady's face, and her look of confusion changed to rage. The glassy dead eyes stared up her with a mocking sneer. _But you love him_, Brienne heard her chide, as clear as if they were still standing there at the wedding feast.

Brienne growled and, with all her strength, sank Oathkeeper into Cersei Lannister's middle with a scream of fury, then wrenched the sword from the body, shifting it on its side as the blade came free. Panting, Brienne looked down and her face dropped, her chin quivering. With the dead queen's corpse moved, she could see the one that had been beneath it – except it wasn't a corpse yet.

Jaime stared up at her, blood pouring from his chest where she'd unknowingly driven the sword. Though his lungs were compromised, he spoke unobstructed, his voice cold, "Have you no honor?"

Brienne gaped at him, tears filling her eyes. "She had a child!" Tyrion shouted from behind her. Brienne looked at him aghast.

"You were charged to protect the innocent," came Sansa's steely voice, "you are no knight." The tears ran down Brienne's face as she looked around at the accusing faces around her, then fell to her knees, grasping at Jaime desperately, but he only stared back at her with disgust.

He lifted his right arm – whole now – and pulled his sister's body to him, glaring at Brienne. "Nothing's more hateful than failing to protect the one you love," and then his eyes clouded over in death.

She lifted her face to the clear blue sky and let out a deafening scream.

Brienne bolted up in her bed, panting and trying to find purchase in the furs. Her stomach churned and she leaned over the edge of the bed thinking she would be sick, but nothing came. She pushed herself back until she was leaning against the headboard and drew her knees to her chest, struggling to catch her breath and contain her pounding heart. She looked around the room, finding it just as she'd left it what felt like hours before when she'd stalked in from and slammed the door behind her. Oathkeeper still hung from the back of the chair, the lions and sunbursts on the belt glistening as bright as the jewel in the pommel. The fire still burned. And winter was still here.

The sky was still darkening outside the shutters and she squinted against the brightness of the firelight, resting her head on her arms. She couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour. They'd spent the last several days clearing the yard and piling up the bodies outside the walls, burning pyres of them in the night. It was hard work and her limbs ached day after day, but with each body they lifted, she was thankful to be alive, and thankful that those around her still lived.

The first two days had gone by in a blur – she couldn't recall seeing or speaking to anyone, just the bodies. She'd felt the skin across her brow and cheek tightening, trying to heal, knowing that she'd likely bear the evidence of the battle on her face for a long time to come.

Her own nightmares about the battle – usually consisting of being buried by the bodies - had started after the second day – an expected horror after all the death they'd witnessed. Everyone seemed to be in a numb kind of daze. On the third day, she'd encountered Jaime in the hallway and they'd only nodded solemnly to each other before silently carrying on with their duties.

Thousands of bodies needed to be burned still, but there was another war yet to fight. On the sixth day, Brienne had been summoned to the library while the initial plans for the attack were laid out. Everyone was over-tired and the discussion became heated, leading to Queen Daenerys leaving the chamber abruptly with Varys apologizing in her wake. Jon had left not long after, followed by Sansa who dismissed Brienne and went in search of Jon. Brienne had turned to leave the chamber and resume her work in the yard when there was a shout of surprise at the other end of the room and she'd spun, gripping her pommel.

"What?!" cried Davos. Tyrion tried to quiet him but the older knight, in his exhaustion, had lost his sense of decorum, "Are you certain? She's a damn snake, don't tell me you trust this lie when the others were proven false!"

"Yes," replied Tyrion matter-of-factly. "Now keep your voice down. Yes, she lied to my face - she lied to all of us that day, more than once, but she didn't lie about this."

Davos scoffed, "If this is true, then she won't give up the capital. That sister of yours is mad enough to burn us in our sleep if she gets half a chance, but the lion defending her cub is much more dangerous."

"We'll have two dragons-"

"Wildfire doesn't care what kind of beast you are. If this is true, then the others need to know what we're getting into."

Tyrion stomped his foot, "If you don't believe me, ask my brother. He's the one who confirmed it for me. And," he'd added sardonically, "he's the father so I'm sure he'll be thrilled to receive your congratulations." Tyrion had turned on his heel and spotted her standing in the doorway, and his face had gone pale.

Brienne had felt her body go cold, and she quickly left the room, despite Tyrion trying to call her back. She'd stormed through the halls, warring on the inside – Jaime had come north, he'd given up Cersei's battle plans, and he'd fought for the living. They'd seemed to have grown closer since he'd arrived at Winterfell, resuming some of the patterns they'd had when she'd stayed those months in King's Landing, and closer still; she'd begun to feel as if her feelings were not the only ones being harbored.

_You and me were always with each other_

Based on Cersei's possessive glares back at King's Landing, Brienne had assumed that he'd fallen back into the woman's arms again, but he'd since told her that he was done with that – that Cersei was in the past for him. But he'd said nothing about a child. It didn't add up.

She knew how Myrcella's death had hit Jaime, and the deaths of Joffrey and Tommen were even more bitter. If Cersei was carrying his child now, honor would compel Jaime to return to her even more so than he'd striven to do before. And if Jaime fled south to return to Cersei now, Daenerys would not hesitate to send her men after him, or worse, Sansa might send Brienne to hunt him down as retribution for having stood for the traitor.

Brienne had gone directly to her chamber feeling betrayed and impotent; she knew that she should have gone in search of Jaime, to confront him, but her heart was not in it. Let him go, she told herself, if he's going to go, let him. She preferred to suffer her regrets without drawing them out. She'd bolted the door and hastily discarded her gear, and then laid down in her bed, numb and deaf to the rest of the world until her nightmare of Jaime's defiant dead eyes woke her.

She sat at the edge of her bed, still in her breeches, her linen tunic stuck to her back with sweat. She gazed into the fire trying to burn the image of Cersei's mocking stare out of her memory. _We don't get to choose who we love_, he'd said to her once. And you don't get to choose when you stop loving someone either, she thought. _But you love him_, the wicked woman continued to taunt through the low flames. A sharp knock at the door roused Brienne from her trance and she padded over still thinking about the image of his eyes clouding over.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from "You and Me" by Alecia Moore and Dallas Green (C) 2014.

**I did tell y'all I wouldn't make you wait long. Three new chapters, coming right up!**


	26. Book 3, Ch 2: The Lie

When Brienne had fled, Tyrion went in search of his brother. He finally found him outside the walls of the castle, doing his part to clear a path through the corpses in front of the wall damaged by the dragon. Jaime paused at his brother's approach straightening up and stretching his back. But when he saw the worry on Tyrion's face, he settled back into a hunch.

"What is it?"

Tyrion hesitated, "I need to speak with you."

Jaime glanced at the others, unaffected by Tyrion's approach and continuing with their work. They'd been tolerant of him and welcomed the extra hand, but they knew what he was and he didn't relish the idea of risking the tension that would come if he abandoned them before the day was out. "Can it wait? The sunlight's almost gone, I'll be back inside soon."

Tyrion pursed his lips and squinted, a look of guilt spreading across his face.

Jaime acquiesced with a sigh, "What have you done?"

"I –" Tyrion threw his brother a mock glare of offense…"I thought you would have told her. You two…seem so close…now."

_Before we knew the other was ever there_

Jaime froze and his mind raced – what sordid secrets could Tyrion have accidentally let rip in front of the only her he could be speaking of? Didn't Brienne know all of his secrets now? He measured his words carefully, "What are you talking about?"

"You didn't tell her about the baby?"

"What b-" Jaime's heart felt as if it had stopped, or simply sped up to the point that his pulse was now a hum. He stared at his brother. In the midst of the battle and the aftermath, he'd pushed away all thoughts of Cersei and her invented pregnancy, including the lie to his brother that he'd assumed would assuage Tyrion's embarrassment, no more.

He'd told Brienne that his loyalty to Cersei was severed, that she was in the past – if she now believed that he'd kept this secret, she might think that he had lied about his intentions. She might at this very moment be assuming that he was prepared to run back to his sister's side when, in reality, it couldn't be further from the truth.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath, attempting to quell his rage. When he opened his eyes, his brow was stormy and Tyrion took a step back from him.

"Tyrion…there is no baby. Cersei lied to us. I only said she hadn't because I thought to take some weight from your shoulders. If our sister is with child now, it must be Euron Greyjoy's or perhaps that smirking lapdog Qyburn has put a bastard in that cursed womb of hers by now, I don't know, and I don't care," he said with finality. He felt the last vestiges of Cersei's grip on him wither and flake off onto the corpses that surrounded them.

Tyrion stared up at his brother for a moment, and then his face broke out into a nervous chuckle. "Oh! Well that's a relief!" He caught sight of Jaime's deadly stare. "Is that…not a relief?"

"What possessed you to tell Brienne?"

"_Ser_ Brienne was lurking at the end of the counsel meeting and ran off after overhearing me warning Ser Davos about our sister's dangerous unpredictability when it comes to protecting her young. And I may have mentioned that you were the father?" Tyrion winced, closing his eyes, preparing to be hit. Several moments passed. "Jaime?" Tyrion finally cracked an eye open to find no one there, just the muddy depressions in the ground where his brother had been standing.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from "You and Me" by Alecia Moore and Dallas Green (C) 2014.


	27. Book 3, Ch 3: The Truth

Jaime stormed through the courtyard looking for her in the fading light. He'd seen Tormund Giantsbane more often than he'd seen Brienne in the preceding days – he had no idea where she might be. Her horse was still in the stables, and Podrick hadn't seen her since the morning. She wasn't in the godswood or the armory. He searched every sedate table in the great hall, and every guardpost on the walls. Sighing to himself, he climbed the steps to their chambers, leaving a trail of muddy footprints.

The hall was dark but for distant light spilling in from the torches in the yard. He paced the landing – what would he even say to her, he thought. He couldn't stand for her to despise him – to think ill of him for his failings. _You've never failed me_, she'd told him at Riverrun. He wondered at what point that would cease to be true, if it hadn't already.

Gathering his courage, he rapped sharply on the door.

Brienne unbolted the door and snapped it open. The sight of Jaime's face, replacing his dying eyes in her mind, caused her heart to leap into her throat and instinctively she threw the door at him, slamming it shut. She took a step back as if, by doing so, she could become invisible to him.

Jaime sighed. He should have expected this. Truly he'd expected her not to acknowledge him at all, so the fact that she'd shown any emotion by shutting him out was actually not a bad sign. And she hadn't re-bolted the door. There was a chance to get through to her.

He leaned his forehead against the door with a thud, "Brienne, please."

On the opposite side, she stood still hoping he would just go away. But he persisted.

"There's been a misunderstanding. I'm not going anywhere until I can make this right. I will sleep in front of this door if necessary."

She crept slowly to the door and put her palms to it silently, angry tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Why wouldn't he just go? Better she not know anything about his plans, lest she been sent in pursuit of him. She could give him that at least.

"Go away," she said unconvincingly through the door. "Do your duty," the ghost of Stannis flittering through her mind. "I will not ask you to betray your family, Ser Jaime," she spat, her spite growing, "but I do recommend you get a head-start."

"Brienne—"

She swung the door open suddenly, nearly causing him to fall over, steading himself against the frame as she glared down at him.

"I have a title, Ser Jaime. You gave it to me. You'd do well to use it so long as you are in my presence."

He bowed his head. "You're right." His words, visible in the cold air, "Please – Ser Brienne – might I come inside and explain?"

She squared her shoulders and occupied the doorway, looking him up and down. There was no hint of his usual levity, but her trust in him wavered, "You're covered in mud."

It occurred to him then that she was wearing far fewer clothes than he. He hadn't seen her with so few layers on since the last leg of their journey to King's Landing. He could see the scars at her neck more clearly now than he had after the battle, glinting in contrast to her skin, the sight tugging at his gut.

_You and me we belong together_

As his eyes traveled downward toward his own body, he recalled with semi-clarity the vision of her in the baths at Harrenhal when she'd stood over him flush with anger sending water everywhere, her freckles dancing across her pale skin – he couldn't see it now because of the billowing tunic, but he could suddenly recall the notch of her waist between her ribs and her hip, a secret part of her design that other no man before him had seen, and possibly no man after.

He felt his neck heat up as he busied himself examining his legs, several inches deep in mud. There were muddy tracks all over the hall now too. She wasn't going to let him in. The hall would be his confessional, then.

He sighed, defeated. He took a deep breath to meet her eyes, struggling not to falter, his voice barely more than a whisper, "Br—Ser Brienne, I beg you, hear me out. What you overheard today was false."

She raised her brow skeptically, "So Lord Tyrion lied to Ser Davos?"

"Not exactly-"

Brienne swept the door closed again, but Jaime was a step ahead this time and flung his golden arm forward to stop its motion, lodging it between the door and the frame. Brienne held the door to it. "Move," she said with a deadly command.

"I won't," he cried, equally forceful. "I need you to hear me out."

Brienne kept her back against the door and could hear his palm sliding across the wood behind her and she leaned into it. The draft from the hallway whistling through the open door and tossing the flames on the hearth.

"Why?" she asked the crack in the door. "Does it amuse you that I stood for you – vouched for you before everyone when all along you knew you'd be going back to her? When you arrived with no reinforcements, I feared for you. Sansa wouldn't hear me, and while she had you dragged before the Queen I went to Jon Snow and begged him hear you out because I thought…I knew you. Because I knew – I thought – that there had to be a reason you would risk coming. But he wouldn't hear me either. So I stood for you before gods and men and swore – I bet my honor on yours. And you let me-"

He could hear her voice tremoring through the gap it broke, and he wished the hand in the door could have been the flesh one – it would be painful, but at least he could be closer, could reach out and comfort her somehow. When she'd stood for him in the hall, he thought her actions had been of the moment – he'd no idea that it had been borne of this kind of desperation.

"Brienne, I—"

"I owe you nothing," she growled.

"And I owe you everything," he snapped back, before he could stop the words. His left hand scraped across the grain, feeling the heat of the room – or perhaps of her - pressing behind it, "-an explanation," he clarified, "Please."

"I've known you to run toward death before, Jaime, but this is a perversion. You've made some pretty speeches about this not being the same, and how you've put your past behind you but clearly you've left something there that you now wish to retrieve, so why don't you just go?" He didn't answer, but he hadn't moved either. "You have this chance, Jaime – go," she urged, "standing there and telling more lies does not help your cause."

Jaime swallowed. "My cause is here. And I never lied to you."

Brienne scoffed on the other side of the door. "Omitting facts is as good as a lie."

Jaime swore under his breath, then spoke directly into the space above his arm. "I swear to you, Brienne. On my honor – whatever that has ever been worth to you – I've no intention of going back to King's Landing, ever if I can help it. There is nothing and no one for me there."

Brienne said nothing, her heart beating through the door.

Jaime could feel the door vibrating and he stretched his palm against it more fervently without adding pressure. "I have no reason to betray anyone here. My loyalty is here – right here. And I would never betray you, you know that…You have to know that," the last, in a desperate whisper.

Again, Brienne said nothing, but she could hear the strain in his voice, and her resolve began to break.

"Tyrion was wrong," he said quietly, "He didn't lie, he just…he didn't have all of the details," he said bitterly.

She let out a long breath and turned, keeping pressure on the door. She closed her eyes, the vision of his death crossing her mind again, and they flew open. Whatever happened, whatever he had to say, she could not bear for those accusing dead eyes to be the last she saw of him. Her next breath came out in a shudder.

She straightened her back and pulled the door slowly just in case he thought to fall into the doorway again. When the door was open fully, she looked at him expectantly. Jaime could see that the scrapes and bruises on her face had begun to fade into yellow, but the bruise around her eye was still bright purple and somewhat swollen, lending her an ironic look even in her seriousness.

"What details?" she asked, mustering as much cold neutrality as she could.

Jaime let out a grateful sigh. He considered telling her then and there why he'd sunk back into that bed – to tell her of his fears for her death, of the ways he'd drunk himself into a stupor over her apparent loss. But he was certain she'd slam the door again – possibly on his neck this time. He couldn't start so far back. "She told me she was pregnant months ago. Qyburn confirmed it. But the weeks went on and she never showed."

"Some women—"

"Not her," he said firmly, "she took after our mother, she always swelled rather quickly," he said, a fleeting memory flashing through his mind, "You saw her at the Dragon Pit – would you have thought that she was with child then?"

Brienne hesitated, thinking of the way Cersei had stared murderously between the two of them, thinking of those murderous dead eyes burning now. She worked her mouth for a reply but could only shake her head.

"No, you wouldn't." He licked his lips, the ghost of his memories haunting him. "She wanted another, a replacement for the ones she'd lost. But even if it were real, it would not have truly been mine. She manipulated me into thinking that she'd let me because I was…"

He felt Brienne's eyes burning into him as he recalled the feeling of believing her dead, and the numbness that followed. "I was in a dark place. She offered me light. And the fool I am, I took it. I knew her cruelty, yet I kept going back for more, trying to fill the bottomless pit that my heart had become after- She hadn't let me ever be a father to the others, why on earth would she start with this one?"

Brienne felt her cold expression soften into something akin to pity, recalling the way he'd been after Myrcella's death – he'd seemed so broken and vulnerable then.

"When I fled King's Landing and came here she'd just told me that she was going to let Euron Greyjoy be the father to our child." He shook his head, his mouth set in a line, "but by then I knew there was no child – and by then I had already planned…" he looked up at her, trying to decide whether he dare tell her he'd thought to stay, that he'd been leaving the capital forever regardless. But her hand was still on the door and he hesitated, "either way – there is no child. If she truly thinks there is now, then either she is madness itself, or it's no bastard of mine."

She felt hope creeping into her body, but then she considered all she'd heard in the library. "What about what Tyrion said, about you?" she asked quietly.

Jaime sighed, rolling his eyes at his own folly, "She managed to convince him when he came to parlay with her after the failure at the pits, and he believed her as I once had. The distinction is that I had the benefit of time – when Tyrion saw her, it had been too long for me to continue believing in the charade. But he'd had no way of knowing just how long she'd been playing at it, and I didn't think to warn him," he added with regret, "so he took her at her word."

"Then why did you—"

"I lied – to him!" he quickly covered, "I lied to him. I thought it a kindness."

Brienne's brows drew together, and Jaime did what he could to meet her eye without fixating on the crease there. "Why?"

He shrugged. "When I revealed her deceit in the hall, it set Tyrion back. The queen questioned her faith in him and he was questioning his faith in himself. He asked me whether the baby had been a lie, too. And rather than give him another reason to question his own judgement and potentially pitch himself off the ramparts, I told him that it was real."

So he'd been trying to save his brother, she thought, foolishly noble to the end. Brienne's look had softened now, but she stayed silent and unreadable.

"I thought I was doing the right thing." Jaime looked at his feet, then took a deep breath and looked up at her through glassy eyes. "I've only…all I've ever done is try to do right by those I love." His voice cracked on the word as his chest swelled and he watched her eyes drop to the floor.

"And I may be paying for the crimes that I committed in their names for the rest of my days. But I will not be controlled or defined by them anymore. I told you that I would serve under your command, Ser Brienne, and I have no interest in begging off of that. Even if you do not believe me, even if you think… you cannot trust me now, I trust you. I know you. I know that you would never ask anything of me that would bring me dishonor as they did."

_Just like a breath needs the air_

"The battle is over," she whispered to her feet.

"That matters not. I remain yours to command." This oath, he swore to himself, he would never break.

She kept her head lowered, but studied him through her pale lashes.

He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I will go if you want me to go, Brienne." He took a deep breath. "Send me away, and I'll leave. I'll saddle my horse tonight and ride away, north, south, it doesn't matter where you send me, because what I'm riding away from stays the same."

She lifted her face to his, trying to discern the emotion there. They searched each other's eyes and all Brienne could think of was her desire to quell the fear she saw in his.

After a moment, she offered an inaudible response.

He surged with hope, "What was that?"

She sniffed, then offered her response again, her voice enveloping him like warm honey. "Stay. Please."

Jaime kept his eyes on her steady but pressed his jagged fingernails into his palm to keep from reaching out and cupping her face and then running his hand down her neck to those silver and pink scars at her collarbone.

'As you command, my lady." His heart soared and he tried to hide a grin as she let out an exasperated sigh and stared at him with an accusation.

"I'm not—"

"I know, I know." He dropped the grin and met her eyes with a seriousness so furious that her torso began shifting defensively. "But so long as you command me, you are mine."

Her breath hitched in her throat as an ache rose in her belly.

She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for misjudging you."

He shook his head at that, leaning towards her. "Never apologize, not to me. I swear by all the gods, Brienne, I will never give you cause to doubt me again."

"Jai—"

Brienne was cut short by the sound of the bells, tolling for that evening's burning. They both swallowed and blinked out of their trance at the sound.

"Time to burn the dead…again," Jaime said, exhaustion pouring out of him. "I understand they've found Jon's friend from the wall - he's among them tonight – the Mormonts and Theon Greyjoy as well."

"I expect he'll give the same eulogy as usual," she said, her brow creasing.

Jaime gave a knowing chuckle, "No doubt…will you come?"

"I suppose I should…" Brienne looked down at her linens and bit her lip, "I'll be a moment…will you…wait for me?"

"Of course."

She half-grinned and shut the door gently. She leaned against the stone wall, cooling the sweat still at her back and chilling the flush that she knew had crept up her body. You are mine, he'd said. "I am yours," she whispered into the firelight, then she went about seeking her boots.

Outside the door, Jaime's shoulders sank and he leaned against the frigid stone wall, his breath materializing in the air as he whispered, "I am yours."

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from "You and Me" by Alecia Moore and Dallas Green (C) 2014.


	28. Book 3, Ch 4: The Pyres

The sky was black, the torchlight beneath the low clouds lending a sallow glow to the proceedings. Jaime stood at her right, his breath pooling in the air, and Podrick hovered just behind her left shoulder. Most nights she'd been too tired to pay much attention to those around her. Most nights she'd hovered at the back, nearly memorizing Jon's speech. Tonight was different. It all reminded Brienne of the night of the battle.

She'd lifted Lyanna Mormont from the dirt herself four days before. The tiny warrior's broken body had weighed nothing in her arms, and Brienne had struggled to compose herself as she'd laid it beside that of the girl's uncle in the snow.

The wind tousled Brienne's hair and she shivered beneath the cloak. She'd become accustomed to the chill, but it was easier when one was moving or constantly about. Tonight she'd been inside by the fire too long and her bones felt it; Jaime noticed. As the warden of the North began, Jaime shifted closer until their arms were touching. Despite the barriers of their clothes and cloaks, it sent a shock up Brienne's arm, but she didn't pull away. His nearness managed to warm her all the same.

_I told you if you called I would come runnin'_

"We're here to say goodbye to our brothers and sisters," Jon began, "To our fathers and mothers. To our friends. Our fellow men and women who set aside their differences... to fight together... and die together so that others might live."

Brienne didn't know well many of those that had fallen. Her closest allies, by the grace of the Warrior, had managed to survive. But standing here outside the gates with those she cared for so near, she felt the trickle of her anxiety creeping down her back once again. There would always be another battle. There was always the risk of loss.

She shifted her feet and leaned ever so slightly into Jaime's arm, the gentle pressure keeping her grounded as she tried to force her misgivings away. He was still here, and he meant to stay, which meant that they would likely fight side-by-side again. And there was nowhere she'd rather be.

Jaime felt her against him, the back of her hand and fingers flush with his, and he breathed deeply at the increased contact, his body relaxing despite the cold and the tension in the air. Aside from Tyrion, Brienne was the only one there who really mattered to him, dead or alive. She was very much alive, and he meant to keep her that way.

"Everyone in this world owes them a debt that can never be repaid. It is our duty and our honor to keep them alive in memory... for those who come after us... and those who come after them... for as long as men draw breath."

Jaime swallowed as some of the torches split out from the crowd, approaching places of honor on the pyres – for the Mormonts, for Sansa Stark saying goodbye to Theon – and he wondered whether he would have received the same honor, or if Daenerys would have insisted his body be quartered and dragged to the woods to be fed on by beasts. Or would Bran have insisted he be hung from the broken tower for the crows to feast on instead? So many options for so many crimes. Tyrion and Brienne might have objected, but who could deny the queen and the raven their vengeance?

As if she sensed that he was standing on the precipice of his inner darkness, Brienne bravely slipped her hand under his and clumsily grasped it, some of their gloved fingers entwining. And as the torches lit the pyres, he absently stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.

It was an innocent gesture for both of them, she knew, a comfort just as it had been at Riverrun when she'd re-entered his tent and tried to coax him out of his spiral of self-loathing.

_Across the highs the lows and the in between_

"They were the shields that guarded the realms of men. And we shall never see their like again."

The pyres lit and the crowd beginning to disperse, Jaime squeezed her hand and released it, his fingers dragging across the skin of her unprotected wrist as he detangled himself from her cloak, causing another chill to run down her spine.

He turned to her, noticing that the brighter fires seemed to wash away the bruises that still haunted her face, but her lips were pale with cold. "You should get inside. It's only going to get colder. We'll do this all again tomorrow."

"I hope not all of it," she said, "If I accuse you of secret plans again tomorrow—"

"—I'll swear my sword to you all over again. I'll knight you again, if that would help. I think Tormund mentioned repetitive knighting as a possibility, didn't he?" He grinned slyly as he caught her blushing when she looked away, and he could see Podrick smiling widely at the joke, but both men lost their levity when she turned back to him with brows knit together.

"Leave the man be – he and his people fought the white walkers for longer than we ever did, and he's lost all the more for it."

Jaime looked down, feeling as if she'd just slapped the hand she'd been holding moments before. Could she have feelings for the wildling? "As you wish, my lady."

She eyed him with that look of disdain that he'd come to love but he could only return an introspective grin. "I must speak with my brother," he said with as much pleasantry as he could muster, "Goodnight, Ser Brienne."

She blinked at him, surprised at his sudden resolve, and nodded. "Good night—" He had moved away into the crowd before she could speak his name.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from "You and Me" by Alecia Moore and Dallas Green (C) 2014.

**OMG 4 chapters in one day? Don't get used to it, eventually I need to sleep! Thank you all for reading and reviewing!**


	29. Book 3, Ch 5: The Squire

The eulogies went on for another week. By then, the bodies were spread far enough from the hold that pyres could be burnt at all hours without disturbing anyone, and the armies could take care of their own dead without the interference of the lords and ladies of the castle. Everyone finally began to settle into regular patterns again, including sleep, and the next meeting of the council was held with decidedly less animosity among those gathered. A feast was even being held that night, a celebration of life in contrast to all the mourning they'd all been partaking in.

Tyrion knew that his brother and the Knight of Tarth had reconciled after the incident of a week ago. Jaime had told him so that night, but he needn't have bothered. Tyrion often spied them in each other's company at meals after that, and he'd seen the way they stole glances at each other when they knew the other wasn't looking. Ser Brienne was not a beautiful woman by objective standards, but she was formidable, her eyes were like the ocean crashing into the boulders below Casterly Rock. She was no beauty, but when he saw his brother watching her from the across the room, or studying her when her eyes were elsewhere, Tyrion could imagine her one.

_You and me we've got two minds that think as one_

If Bronn were there, he would have complained about it, he would have said that her eyes were drawn to Jaime the same way any woman looked at him, but Tyrion knew better - whatever this was ran much deeper than the simpering glances that women had for him when he was the golden lion of their youth, perhaps deeper even than Cersei's lustful obsession with her twin, healthier at least. And he knew his brother – his feelings for the Knight were different than anything he'd seen from him - somehow fiercer than his blind dedication to their beautiful sister. After all, he had jumped into a bear pit for her. And lost his hand. And defied their sister - more than once. If that wasn't love, what was. Their mutual admiration, at least, was undeniable.

And yet there was something else – some invisible blockade between the two of them that seemed to be keeping them circling and never settling. It was maddening to watch. Tyrion found himself wondering how long they'd been like that - had they been doing this dance in King's Landing back before he'd sent her away? If they had, there'd been no whispers of it, but to see them now one might imagine they'd been practicing their safe distances and averted eyes for years. With the next war back on the horizon, it wouldn't do to have them persist in this battle, it was too exhausting for the observers.

Two weeks after the dead arrived, Tyrion pulled Podrick aside in the yard and walked with him to the godswood. "Tell me how your lady fares, Pod."

"My lady, my lord? You mean Ser Brienne?"

"Yes, delightful boy. I meant Ser Brienne. How is she faring after all…" he gestured noncommittally toward the castle, "…this."

"She is well, my lord. Fewer nightmares I think, now. She's sleeping longer."

"That's good. I had a few myself – mostly dreams of Tywin Lannister crawling out of a Stark tomb and berating me for defending Winterfell…but it passed."

"Yes, my lord. Mine as well."

"Pod, there's no one to impress here, stop with this my lord business. Call my Tyrion, damnit."

Tyrion looked up at the leaves of the weirwood and then cast a sidelong glance at his former squire. "Your lady is sworn to my former wife, which means you'll likely be staying here in the north, is that right?"

Pod hesitated. "She is sworn to Lady Sansa, yes. I believe Ser Brienne will stay with her. I will stay if she asks, but I think, if I may, I think I've grown out of being a squire. And with the war heading south I might be of more use there...as a fighter."

"I believe you're right, Pod. We'll make a knight of you yet. You care for her, though. For Ser Brienne. You'd stay by her side if she wanted."

"Of course, Lord...Tyrion. I haven't had a chance to ask her yet, though. She's been occupied of late."

"Haven't we all." Tyrion muttered, considering Pod for a moment and then chancing a skirt at the subject he was most interested in. "What do you know of Ser Brienne's…friendship with my brother?"

"Their…well, Ser Jaime sent me to squire with—"

"No, no I know all that. I was hoping for less history and more substance. I've been away for a long time, Pod, paint me a picture," he said petulantly.

Pod pondered a moment, then looked to Tyrion as if he had a secret he was hesitating to let out. It turned out to not be such a mystery, "She's very affected by Ser Jaime," he started cautiously. Tyrion rolled his eyes, and Pod quickly continued, "What I mean, my lord…Tyrion, is that she's never…I believe she cares for him a great deal…"

Pod's face flushed pink, but Tyrion nodded, encouraging him on. "When we arrived at the wall with Lady Sansa, there was a man there – you know him – Tormund Giantsbane. He paid Ser Brienne a great deal of attention, but she had no interest in him."

"Yes I believe we've all borne witness to his style of wooing. She's a discerning woman."

"Ser Brienne told me once how she'd danced with King Renly when she was young, at a ball." Tyrion's brows screwed together, wondering what one could have to do with the other. "That she'd cared for him because he'd come to her aid after other boys had been mocking her plainness. She said that no one had ever looked at her with any kind of affection before that."

"Well," Tyrion considered, "to go so long with no affection (even if it was Renly's affection) and then have someone like Tormund Giantsbane trying to carry you off…I think if I were a woman, I might run away too, he's terrifying."

"But that's just it – Ser Jaime…I saw the way the two of them looked at each other when he sent away – his looks were no less baldfaced than Tormund's are now, he just thinks he hides 'em better." Tyrion guffawed at his companion's frankness. "And then at Riverrun…I thought she was going to climb out of the boat and swim back to him."

Tyrion puzzled at this, "I don't think I know that story."

"Lady Sansa sent us to retrieve Lady Catelyn's uncle from the Riverlands. We didn't know that King Tommen had sent the Lannister forces to try and take Riverrun back from him for the Freys at the same time. When she and your brother saw each other it was as if they'd both been struck by lightning. The two of them just shook hands and gawked at each other for an age."

"I've seen that look."

"And I've seen them holding hands."

"Really?" Tyrion was stunned, actually, "Every time I see them, it's as if they're carrying a hedge between them."

Pod nodded, "At the burnings some nights ago. I'm sure they didn't think anyone could tell, it was so dark and all, but I saw him pull away after."

Interesting, thought Tyrion, "And since?"

Pod raised his eyebrows and shook his head, "Nothing from what I've seen. They're together often but if they're engaging in—."

"No, I don't imagine they are. They're too stiff around each other to have let off any of that steam, and frankly it's making me bloody tense...What was that you said about a boat?"

"Ser Jaime granted us passage to try and treat with the Blackfish—"

"-He was there to take the castle and he just let her...go in?"

"She convinced him to let her try to persuade the Blackfish to go with us."

"And go against the Freys?"

"I suppose so."

"This may be more serious than I thought," Tyrion muttered to himself.

"But the Blackfish could not be convinced, and Ser Jaime was marching on the castle, so we had to escape."

"Surely the two of you had nothing to fear from my brother."

"No, but she didn't trust his men or the Freys. And the Tullys already suspected her of working with your brother – we couldn't stay."

"Fair points."

"We escaped in a small boat from beneath the castle. Ser Jaime was on the ramparts and kept his men from sounding the alarm when he saw us. And then they - the two of them stared at each other for a long time while I did the rowing."

"You're a good man, Pod. A loyal man." Tyrion raised his brows. "I've always known my brother to be a good man, too. But Cersei was always a terrible influence on him. It fascinates me that Ser Brienne has had quite the opposite effect."

Pod looked at his feet and Tyrion chased after his glance. "What else?"

"Ser Bronn told me - when we went to King's Landing - he told me that Ser Jaime had been...mourning her, that he'd kept Ser Jaime in his cups to keep him from jumping into the Blackwater."

"That doesn't sound like my brother..."

Podrick shrugged, "He thought her dead in the battle between the Starks and Boltons."

"The battle of the bastards, they called it," said Tyrion with a nod, then a memory struck him – what was it Jaime had said about how he wanted to die?. "No you're right, Pod. Jaime said something about..." he shook his head. "She does love him, doesn't she," it was a statement, not a question.

"As surely as he loves her."

_And our hearts march to the same beat_

"Lovesick idiots the both of them, then," Tyrion sighed. "But why not...act on it? They're equals in status, if not quite in height. Cersei is far away and cannot hurt them, they've clearly been itching to climb into each other's armor for years, and they've just survived a fight with dead men. What's stopping them? Are they both too damn honorable to fuck?"

"She is."

"Of course she is," Tyrion said with a chuckle. "Poor Tormund."

"Why do you say that?"

"If she's too honorable to make love to my brother you really think she's ever going to give in to Tormund's advances? Although come to think if it - gods, they haven't…?"

Pod blushed, "No! At least…no. Though I think she does not dislike him as much as she once did."

"Tolerates him, I imagine…" he cocked an eyebrow and looked toward the castle, "I could use that."

"Lord Tyrion?"

Tyrion stared off into the distance and then turned back to the squire with a wry grin, reaching his hand up to his shoulder. "Pod, what else has the Knight of Tarth told you about herself?"

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from "You and Me" by Alecia Moore and Dallas Green (C) 2014.


	30. Book 3, Ch 6: Jealousy

"I see your wife has set you up nicely."

Tyrion spun from the table to see his brother standing in the doorway, a teasing grin on his face as he took in the size of the room.

"She's not my wife," Tyrion said pointedly with a sigh, "but yes, she has. He stood and walked toward him, gesturing at the space. "I have plenty of room – I would offer to let you come and stay here, but I've not heard a single complaint from you so I assume you're content with your meager lodgings?"

Jaime assented wordlessly from the other side of the room. Convenient, Tyrion thought. He struck up a conversational tone hoping not to rouse his brother's suspicions about his reason for being there.

"What have you been doing with yourself all day?"

Jaime shook his head, "Is that why you summoned me here? To talk about the mundane trivialities of my daily routine?"

"If you like," Tyrion said with a shrug, attempting nonchalance, "I just thought it might be nice to sit and talk as we used to." He gestured to one of the chairs near the hearth while he climbed into the other. "Difficult to do much outside of this room lest the queen think I'm plotting with you."

"But we're not…plotting…?"

"What do you take me for? I know he sneaks about and hides in corners, dropping in when you least expect him like the craven spider he is, but have you forgotten that Varys is here? Our heads would be mounted on the wall in less than a day."

Jaime chuckled, "Yours, perhaps. I think I'd be able to charm my way out of it."

"Only if Ser Brienne of Tarth was the executioner," Tyrion chanced with an arched brow.

Jaime sat down with a soundless breathy chuckle. "You're wrong. I've made a promise – no secrets, no plotting. If she found out, I'd have better luck with Varys."

"Just so," Tyrion laughed. "She's a rare woman, your friend. A rare knight, too. I doubt that any other could lay claim to having danced with the same man on whose Kingsguard they later served…oh, except Loras Tyrell I suppose – same King, and all. Wasn't Loras also engaged to our sweet sister for a time?" Tyrion didn't wait for an answer, adding quietly, "What a curious parallel. But I'd put my money on Brienne in a fight."

Jaime smiled somewhat sadly. "She beat him, actually, so you'd have won that bet...and all the Tyrells are dead now, so a rematch is unlikely."

"A clear winner then!"

Jaime smiled a bit wider, but remained rather pensive, watching the fire.

The younger Lannister resumed his passive grin and studied the fire. "And so lucky, too," Tyrion said, slowly tiptoeing his way to the point of this meeting, "to be surrounded by such dedicated friends. Sansa and Arya look up to her – I suppose we all do. Podrick wants to _be_ her. And Giantsbane obviously cares a great deal for her—"

Jaime threw his brother cautious glance, his jaw hardening, single fist unconsciously clenching. But Tyrion was looking into the fire serious and unconcerned.

"And you, of course." He finally turned to face his brother, the mask of innocence tightly pressed, "You said you made her a promise? I hope nothing serious, or that giant man will likely have your hide or whatever it is wildlings do to other men."

Jaime tried to find the sarcasm in his brother's eyes, but practice had allowed Tyrion to hide it completely. Gathering that there was no jape coming, Jaime looked down at his hands in his lap - one flesh, one gold – flexing the living one at the memory of her hand in his. "I've sworn to fight by her side, that's all."

"Hmm, and you've done so valiantly, both of you. How fortunate the North was to have the two of you here. I'm glad my former wife had such a champion in the battle." He watched his brother turn silent thoughts over in his mind, the firelight glinting off that garish hand of his.

"She wasn't fighting for Sansa," Jaime said very quietly, "we were just trying to survive for..."

_They say everything, it happens for a reason_

Tyrion quietly noted his brother's shift from "she" to "we" but said nothing of it and don't press him to finish his thought once he trailed off. "And what will you do now that war is over? The army of the dead may have been stopped, but death inevitably marches south. The queen is anxious for her throne. Our sister-"

"—Is already dead to me," Jaime said without a hint of irony. "I've no plans to ever return to King's Landing, but I'll fight wherever Brienne needs me. I owe her that."

Tyrion flopped his hand through the air as if lazily batting away his brother's words. From his conversation with Podrick that morning, he already knew all about this infamous debt that the two of them seemed to take on from each other every chance they got, as if oaths were water and the two of them were dying of thirst. They made promises the way other people made excuses.

Tyrion didn't relish the idea of manipulating the brother he loved into acting on his feelings but, he told himself, if it meant that there were two more people in the world who stood a chance for happiness, it would be worth it. "Would she stay here with the Starks? I don't predict there'll be much fighting to do here at Winterfell – the North seems to have met its quota on that for now. What does one do when one has already fought the most dangerous enemy?"

Tyrion worried his lip, a mummer's farce of deep thought, "Maybe she'll go home to Tarth, he mused, "has she mentioned it? I can't fathom that Lord Sellwyn is getting any younger so she'll go back eventually, I imagine. Not much to fight there except perhaps an errant lobster or two. Of course she could always go even further north instead. The cold suits her, don't you think? Bundled in those furs she could almost be one of the free folk."

Jaime could feel himself turning red, and a bitterness crept into his voice as he swallowed hard, "I couldn't say. I am not privy to her plans."

"But what of your own plans? Surely you can't follow Ser Brienne of Tarth around forever. For one thing, Podrick is already doing a superb job of that, and for another, how long do you think it would be before she'd need to start carrying you from camp to camp?" Jaime glared at his brother, but Tyrion persisted, "Besides, she's Lord Sellwyn's only living issue and will need to produce an heir somehow. What are you going to do, squire her on her wedding night? Play nursemaid to her babes when you're too old to hold a sword any longer? You could be the Lord of Casterly Rock, why on earth would you choose this life instead?" Tyrion knew that he was holding the door open and pushing his brother into the abyss now, but it had to be done. Burning down the last vestiges of Jaime's pride and self-indulgent hesitation was going to be the only way to let those feelings live.

Jaime shot out of his chair as if he were going to bolt for the door, but he only stalked closer to the hearth, his hand on the mantle. He'd never really considered the future, even when it came to Brienne. It was always an afterthought – fight, live, repeat – it beat through his veins like a mantra. But just because his family's legacy was at an end didn't mean everything stopped for her, too.

Of course she would be honor-bound to go home and lead Tarth. But what if her father finally coerced her into marrying someone unsuited to her? Would Jaime be able to stand by knowing that she deserved better? Or worse yet, he thought with a pang, what if she managed to marry someone who _was_ suited to her, who would love her, whom she would love? Would she dismiss Jaime? Or would he – as Tyrion had suggested – stay and play nursemaid to her large flame-haired children?

"Tell me," Tyrion nudged after a few moments' silence, interrupting his brother's waking nightmare of being surrounded by Tormund's offspring, "have you never aspired to anything else? You were determined to use your left hand after you lost the other, and you succeeded. So I know you capable of dedicating yourself to a cause. But we're not getting any younger, brother. Have you put any thought into what you might do when the wars are all over?"

Jaime shook his head, rage still coating his throat, "I was never a scholar like you."

"Nor would you need to be! You were Lord Commander of the Kingsguard - you know what layabouts the masters were in those days. Petyr Baelish was clever but not a scholar. Father was never a scholar."

"I don't wish to hear about—-"

"The Evenstar, then. Ser Brienne's father was raised to be just as learned as you, he trained arguably the best warrior I've ever seen – I know you won't disagree with that - and he's ruled Tarth these many years in peace – all without being a scholar, as you say. Leading doesn't always mean being the smartest person in the room. It means being wise enough to listen to the smartest people in the room. You've led armies into battle - did you see to rationing and training schedules? No, you were there to ensure that all of those things were being addressed by the right people. Leave the scholarly pursuits to others. You could do much better. And I mean it – Casterly Rock should be yours. What use have I for it? Find a wife and repopulate the westerlands to your heart's content."

But Jaime didn't want the Rock. He didn't even want to be a lord. And he certainly didn't want to be in the westerlands when his heart would be rooted in the east. He'd told himself that he never wanted much – just for his family to be happy. But now his head ached and his heart hurt, as if his entire person was realizing how much want had been simmering below the surface for years.

These last couple of weeks they'd sharaed at Winterfell, the last week especially, he'd stopped himself dozens of times from reaching out for her, from acting on that want – a need, really. Even after he'd shaken off the fog and put distance between himself and the past he'd borne on his shoulders for so long, even after he felt certain that his feelings were being reflected back to him, he'd held back, partly out of fear of rejection in light of her sensitivity to Tormund, but mostly because he treasured the friendly intimacy they had and he hadn't been willing to put that in jeopardy. The worst of it had been right after the battle, when they'd been alone in her room, removing each other's armor, bleary with exhaustion, the awareness of how close they'd brushed death was all quite vivid at the time, and he'd clutched his armor to him to keep from pulling her down into her bed and holding her there until the apparitions of the dead had passed.

Tyrion was right – time wasn't going to stop here. If he wanted to hold onto the happiness that he'd earned, either he had to decide what he wanted his future to be and go toward it, or he needed to get a lot better at living in the present.

_You can be flawed enough but perfect for a person_

He let out a heady sigh while his brother watched him tumble from the pedestal of nonchalant uncertainty that he'd lived on for so many years. "I've only ever looked to the next battle. Being idle has just made me depressed and drunk. You're right, though…I should consider my choices. But it won't be Casterly Rock. You can have it – or burn it down, or do what you will – give it to Bronn for all I care. It's on the opposite side of the world from where I want to be."

Directly opposite Tarth in fact, Tyrion thought. "Very well," Tyrion said, indifferent, "do let me know if you change your mind." He slapped at his knees and jumped from his chair. "In the meantime, I'll be going south soon with the queen. Preparations are being made and I expect we'll leave within the fortnight. Until then," he added, sincerity leeching in, "it will be nice to spend time with you, brother. Even if all we talk of is very tall mundane trivialities.

Jaime rolled his eyes and tried to smile despite the feelings that were now trying to claw their way out of his chest.

"Who knows how many years we might spend apart this time, hmm? Let's make the most of it…starting with tonight. I've been drinking the pithy grape waters of Essos for far too long. I understand that a barrel of Dornish strongwine has finally arrived from White Harbor and I intend to drink it all," he added with an impish grin.

Earlier in the day, Jaime had considered excusing himself from going down to the feast. The hall being filled with the stinking Stark bannermen was bad enough on any given day, but the thought of introducing the aromas of meat and quality wine to the mix made Jaime's stomach turn. He would rather sit in the cold and starve – at least it might help numb him to everything else. And he was sure his brother wouldn't mind his missing the event.

But now he knew he couldn't go another hour without seeing her. He pictured Brienne in her usual seat, confused by the empty bench across from her. And then he imagined that empty space being filled by the oafish red-headed lout, and he couldn't do it – he would not. He stood and clapped his brother on the shoulder, "I hope they brought more than one barrel."

Tyrion grinned slyly back up at him and chuckled to himself.

They crossed the courtyard together quickly to avoid the cold and made their way up the aisles of the great hall. Tyrion nodded to his brother before walking to his place at the queen's side, while Jaime made his way to the table that he and Brienne had customarily taken as their own over the course of the last several days.

They'd eaten most meals together there, plotting out the courses of their mornings, recounting the horrors of their afternoons, or simply sitting in contented evening silence after a long day before she left for her chamber. He'd often parted from her at the bottom of the steps and stayed below a while if only to selfishly make sure that she wasn't followed by the wildling. He wasn't sure what he'd do if she ever were. Even now the wildling was just a few feet away from her creating a raucous noise at one of the head tables, too close and present for Jaime's liking, especially with the way his body had begun humming protectively the second he saw her from across the hall.

Jaime had rarely been jealous of anyone for anything, but when she'd defended the man against Jaime's teasing, he'd felt it. It has been one thing when the advances had been met with patient disdain. It was quite another to see her openly pity the man on a human level. When she'd chastised him he'd looked down almost expecting to see a dagger sticking out of his gut the pain was so sharp - it might have been more merciful if she'd skewered him with a sword rather than her words. In that moment he'd been terrified of seeing her walk away from him disappointed, so he did the only thing his addled brain could think to do, and he walked away first – a cowardly move that he knew he would never repeat.

_Someone who will be there for you when you fall apart_

As he approached the table, Brienne and Podrick had their backs to him, and a Stark bannerman whose name Jaime was always forgetting – Daron, Dorin, Declan, something like that – was encroaching a little bit too far into Jaime's normal seat for his liking. He glared at the man from behind Brienne, and on spying Jaime he quickly moved off to another table altogether just as Jaime slid into his seat across from her.

Brienne started at the sudden change of persons in front of her, but blinked and grinned when Jaime took his seat, causing Jaime to smile back. "Not late, am I?"

"No, Ser Jaime," slurred Pod from the opposite corner of the table, "just the wine just now."

"Yes, Podrick seems to be enjoying the wine quite a bit this evening," Brienne muttered to Jaime. His face lit up at her conspiratorial tone, his smile growing wider, and it put Brienne at more ease than she'd felt in what felt like a terribly long time.

Jaime has been often nearby in the last week, ever since their quarrel. Ever since he'd sworn to stay. But starting that night he'd seemed quiet and somewhat guarded, until this moment. Something was different somehow, even from before. He seemed light, free. She hadn't seen him smile quite like this since...

Brienne cast her eyes down. She hadn't seen him smile like that since knighting her a fortnight ago. The memory filled Brienne with a terrible joy of accomplishment that she thought must be making her blush to her roots, but no one would have been the wiser, save Jaime. He could see the emotion ripple up through her body, ending in a contented sigh that only he witnessed, averting his eyes before she lifted hers again in order to prevent causing her embarrassment.

As Pod finished refilling his own cup, he went to dutifully fill Brienne's but she stopped him with her eyes and covered the top of the cup with her hand until he set the pitcher down. But then another hand was on hers, gently curling around her fingers – one she guessed she would have known with her eyes closed – the only touch that had ever made her feel that knot in her stomach turn to liquid fire.

They hadn't had any sort of physical contact since that night in the cold, pyres lighting the sky with their sickly glow, Jon Snow droning on his usual course, when she had dared to lace her glove with Jaime's – for warmth, for comfort, whatever it was – and he'd grasped her in return, his callused sword-hewn palm pressing through the leather and fitting flush against her own.

But this was different. The contact ignited a wildfire in his chest as he lifted her hand and then pressed it to the table with his, lingering for a moment, feeling her pulse through the back of her hand as it beat in time with his. And then he was moving away to turn the pitcher so that he could grasp the handle.

Even after he'd removed his hand from hers, Brienne could feel the blaze of that touch stealing up her wrist and, as he picked up the pitcher, Brienne's breath caught in her throat as she found herself wondering despite herself what it might be like to feel that inferno on skin that wasn't currently exposed to the air.

_Guiding your direction when you're riding through the dark_

"We fought dead things and lived to talk about it," he said. "If this isn't the time to drink, when is?" He paused, pitcher in the air, and caught her eye. The look on his face seemed to silently ask for her trust, and she couldn't help but meet it with an affirmative nod. He poured her only a little, himself more, earning him a light chuckle from her when she saw what he was about.

They clinked their cups together, a celebration of life, a promise for living, and then they drank, neither daring to look away. And for a moment, there were no wars or oaths or titles, only Jaime and Brienne smiling as the filament that had once struggled to connect them long ago mended itself and became stronger as it wove a familiar path beneath their ribs.

_Oh, that's you and me_

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from "You and Me" by Alecia Moore and Dallas Green (C) 2014

**So many breadcrumbs**


	31. Book 3, Ch 7: The Game

The celebration happening at the front of the hall eventually seeped into the rest of the room, as if for one evening the North could put aside their pain and loss, and embrace their survival. The wine flowed more quickly than the stewards of Winterfell had anticipated, and barrels were being brought up from the cellar regularly.

From his place near the hearth, Tyrion had watched his older brother at the table by the door, drinking and laughing with the woman he so clearly loved, while Pod seemed to get sloppier by the minute. Perhaps he shouldn't have plied the squire with so much wine earlier in the day, he thought. But then, the younger man had been very helpful.

But now their table had gone quieter.

Brienne and Pod were turned toward the table across the threshold where Tormund and his compatriots were arguing mirthfully, a smile playing on the knight's lips. But Jaime wasn't smiling anymore. Instead he seemed to be concerning himself with some bits of food on the table, chin down, mouth set in a straight line, occasionally glancing up at Brienne through his lowered lashes.

I think that's my cue, Tyrion thought to himself. The pitcher in front of him was full and he looked at it somewhat regretfully before he excused himself to the queen and shuffled around the head table to take a turn of the room in search of weaker stuff. He didn't want them drunk, he just wanted them talking.

He finally found a pitcher of what he affectionately termed Lannisport honey piss at a side table across the room. After a few melancholy words with Ser Davos, Tyrion hefted the pitcher and continued his arc until he arrived at his destination. With a wink to Podrick, Tyrion deposited the flagon onto the table and climbed onto the bench beside his brother.

Brienne noticed him out of the corner of her eye and turned to face him fully with a pleasing sort of grin. "Lord Tyrion, welcome."

Tyrion grinned back at her openly, "Ser Brienne, a pleasure, but please - while you certainly earned your title, I cannot make the same claim for myself. Besides, we're all friends here. Tyrion is fine."

Brienne nodded, "And please call me Brienne."

Jaime put on a look of mock offense, "I seem to recall you telling me that I _had _to use your title."

She flattened her face into a look of commanding disdain, and Tyrion thought she looked positively regal. She arched a brow and looked down her nose at Jaime, all seriousness. "Yes well you, Ser, are making up for your years of abusing me by calling me My Lady."

Jaime saw a twinkle in her eye, observing the way she sucked in part of her her upper lip, just below that scar that cut into it - a tell, he realized, for when she was holding something in - a shade of the way she used to grimace before she struck while sparring. It gives away the game, he'd told her. "What about Podrick, he calls you that all the time." She was gritting her teeth to keep from laughing now. "Yes, but I like Pod," she said, the mirth in her eyes sneaking out, and she tried to swallow her laugh when she saw Jaime unable to hide his own she lost herself in the most unbound and joyous laughter Tyrion thought he'd ever heard.

They were all laughing now, save Pod who had perked up when he heard his name, but could only grin inwardly while the others wiped pleasant tears from their eyes. Tyrion was well pleased at his presence having improved the mood. He poured himself some of the yellow wine and looked about the table. "Let's play a game."

Jaime eyed his brother suspiciously and Brienne's eyes ticked to Jaime before looking back at Tyrion. "I don't know any games."

"This is an easy game. We try and guess things about each other's past - guesses mind you, nothing we've told each other or experienced together. If I guess right about you, you drink. If I'm wrong, I drink, and so on."

"I'm not terribly keen on drinking."

"Oh there's no volume requirement. It's just for fun, a way to get to know each other. We'll play as teams - after all it wouldn't be fair for Jaime and I to guess things about the other, and you and Pod are close as well." He saw the hesitation on her face, but then she cast that glance at Jaime and he watched it melt away, her grin meeting his brother's.

"Oh alright." She held out her cup and Tyrion filled it gleefully.

"Who goes first?" asked Jaime.

Tyrion looked over at Pod who had crossed his arms on the table and laid his head on top of them, face dutifully turned to Brienne. "I say we let Podrick go first lest he fall asleep before his turn comes."

"I'm awake, Tyrion," came the muffled response from the other side of the table.

"Excellent. Go on, make it a good one for you may not stay conscious for your next turn."

Pod grinned into his arms and looked across the table at Jaime. "You were knighted in the field."

Jaime have the boy a good natured nod and drank. Even as Pod's lids started to droop.

"Our turn - go Jaime. Maybe," he muttered, "stick with knight - her squire won't keep us entertained much longer." But Jaime's eyes were already focused on Brienne. He peered at her, "You've always preferred lobster to chicken." Tyrion's stomach did a tiny flip - his plan was working, he was sure of it. His brother had absorbed at least part of his earlier pointed ramblings, if not the accurate bits.

Brienne gave Jaime a curious glance and lifted an eyebrow, apparently relishing in telling him to drink. Jaime sipped his wine, maintaining his grin and then gestured to signify that it was her turn.

She turned to Tyrion, squinting at him, guessing, "You have fed a dragon."

Tyrion gave her an appreciative glance, "Technically that's true." He raised his cup to her and gulped the sweet drink, not missing when Jaime offered her another congratulatory smile. Either his brother was more affected by wine than he remembered, or this was going to be much easier than he'd thought. Setting his cup down, he looked at Pod affectionately as he slept. "I can't bear to wake him. Go ahead, Jaime. Your turn."

Jaime sat back, his elbow resting on the table while he chewed this thumbnail, considering her, remembering what Tyrion had said about her going back to Tarth eventually. "You," he said, pointing at her, "are an only child."

Tyrion was ecstatic with himself, and exuberant with the wine. He shot an exaggerated pitying frown at Brienne and touched his head to his brother's shoulder.

Brienne was sure that he'd known that already. Hadn't she told him that at some point, in all the days and nights they'd spent on the road as both foes and allies, all the afternoons they'd spent recuperating and then later walking the gardens in King's Landing - it wasn't possible that she'd omitted the fact that her family now consisted only herself and her father. "I told you I was."

"You didn't," he retorted with a shake of his head, reaching out to move her cup closer to her hand.

"I did!"

"I surmised it."

Oh, good word, thought Tyrion. "Drink."

With an exasperated sigh, Brienne sipped at her wine, putting the cup down too quickly for Tyrion's liking. Before she could even swallow, Tyrion was moving along.

"Go again," he muttered to Jaime.

Brienne swallowed hard, nearly choking on the wine. "Why does he get to go again?"

"Because it's my game," replied Tyrion with a glower.

Jaime was enjoying this immensely. It had been so long since he'd heard her laugh like that. And it wasn't lost on him that here he was with the only people who really mattered in his life anymore, and they were getting along. She was watching him consider his next question, seeming to dare him to ask the wrong one.

He was pointing at her again, and she was tempted to break his fingers for it, he looked so proud of himself."

"You have danced with Renly Baratheon."

Brienne blinked, and then swiveled her head toward Podrick, the only person she'd ever shared that story with. Podrick opened his eyes to her accusing stare. But too drunk to be afraid of her repercussions, Podrick just smiled and shook his head, "No." Brienne looked back at Jaime, his face all innocence, then looked at Tyrion who was watching her expectantly. Something was amiss here, and she was sure it was Tyrion's doing. He narrowed her eyes and glared at him over the rim of her cup as she finished its contents.

When she put her cup down, Jaime refilled it but, catching her glance, stopped halfway. Then he leaned back with a grin while she looked at him, considering her own question.

"My turn."

Her chin rested on her thumb while her forefinger rubbed absently at her bottom lip, and Jaime was lost. He wondered briefly for a moment if she could possibly know the emotions she was stirring in him with just that innocent look.

She dropped her hand back on top of the other and leaned her head toward him. "You learned to wield a sword before you learned to ride a horse."

Jaime cocked a surprised eyebrow at her and drank. Pleased with herself, she went again, unbidden. "You prefer the coast to the woods."

Here Jaime hesitated, but he finally assented, "That is true…though I do have _some_ pleasant memories of the woods." When he drank this time, his eyes did not leave hers, and her mouth settled into a knowing grin tinged with sadness.

Tyrion looked at the two of them, knowing they were communicating some secret history that he was not privy to. He let out an exasperated sigh, "Well this hardly seems fair. Ser Brienne, you know my brother entirely too well – I fear the only way this game is going to stay interesting is if you and I question one another."

Brienne let out a laugh despite herself and looked to Tyrion, still suspicious of him. "Alright, go ahead, do your worst."

Tyrion pondered, "You…have always hated dresses."

Brienne pursed her lips with a laugh. "Drink."

Tyrion raised both eyebrows and drank.

"I was never fond of finery, but as a girl I enjoyed the way the fabric pooled under me when I sat on the jetty or on the beach. But as soon as my father realized that my dresses were all getting torn because I was using them as cushions only after I'd climbed over the rocks, he thought to put me in breeches instead."

Tyrion laughed with her. "Very well – I'll try again. You…dreamt of being a pirate."

Brienne and Tyrion were both laughing heartily now, and Jaime watched chuckling as his brother and his friend – if he could call her that – reveled in the silly game.

"Wrong!" Brienne was shouting through her laughter, "Wrong, wrong, wrong – drink!"

Tyrion laughed into his cup and downed the remainder of his wine, slamming the cup down, waking Podrick who reached for the pitcher and wordlessly poured what was left into Tyrion's cup.

Brienne leaned forward, her eyes darting first to Tyrion, but then to Jaime as if looking for confirmation of what she was about to guess. "You were married…before Sansa."

Tyrion's face dropped and he looked to his turncoat brother, assuming that he'd betrayed him to her and told the shameful story of his sham marriage to Tysha when he'd been but a boy. But Jaime showed no evidence of guilt on his face.

"Drink!" his brother commanded.

Tyrion gritted his teeth, and gave Jaime a vengeful look as he drank deeply.

"You're drinking wine, but you prefer ale!"

"No!"

All of them laughed, and Brienne took a long sip of her wine. Setting her cup down, she leaned forward on her arms, bracing for the next question.

Tyrion watched as she and his brother traded smiles again before she looked back to him. Tyrion swallowed, knowing that with the wine gone this might be the only chance he had to force them to confront the redheaded elephant in the room. He didn't want to do this. He loved his brother and his brother clearly loved Brienne. These were two people who were inevitably very important to him, but he saw no other way about this. And he hated himself for it.

He saw it all so clearly in his mind – she would drink, his brother would be assured that nothing had happened between her and the wilding, and honor would compel him to come to her defense and remind Tyrion that Brienne was an unmarried noblewoman, thereby planting the seed that Tyrion saw for their future. All these two needed was a shove in the right direction. And if it backfired, he could always hide behind the wine.

"You're a virgin," Tyrion finally said quietly, immediately sucking the air out of the room. Brienne froze, and Jaime turned to her, their eyes meeting painfully – hers filled with disappointment, his with shame, both sharing the same memories of their earliest days together. Memories of him taunting her with comments unworthy of him and undeserved by her. Memories of him wanting to die after losing his sword hand in defense of her maidenhead. She broke away and looked at the table, the past too raw for her to confront. Pod threw back what was left in his cup, a final attempt at drowning the shame he felt for betraying her secrets to Tyrion.

The younger Lannister had underestimated the depth of his brother's feelings. He'd already eclipsed the summit of his jealousy and what Tyrion was doing was not helpful. It was unkind; a low blow, even for him. But Tyrion couldn't read their minds as they could each other's.

"That's a statement. About the present," Jaime snapped, trying to manage the situation. His brother didn't take the hint.

"At no point in the past up until this very moment have you ever slept with a man…or a woman."

Brienne's eyes were glued to the table. Jaime alternated between glaring at his brother, and trying to catch her eye, silently urging her to just drink the damn wine. It didn't matter whether it was true, and it didn't matter what Tyrion thought about it. But if she drank, his brother might drop the subject.

Brienne met Jaime's glance one last time and he could see her donning the armor she usually wore beneath her skin for others, and the realization that she was shutting him out too sobered him. She was not going to give Tyrion the satisfaction of her answer. Instead she stood, towering over them, her mouth a scalding frown. Tyrion was cowed by her look of disdain, and further shamed by his brother's silent disappointment. He'd miscalculated, he realized. There was something between them that he'd missed, and now they were all suffering for it. "I have to piss," Brienne declared, her attempt at sinking to Tyrion's level. But before she could move off, the wildling was in her path.

Jaime tensed as Tormund approached, ready to knock the man into the ground if he had to, but his eyes were on her alone, worrying over her. Her manner was polite, but her voice was like ice as she excused herself from the wildling's reach, staring past him. When he made to follow her, Jaime sprang up to block his way. He looked down at the wildling's surprise, realizing suddenly that he was taller than him, and tapped his shoulder sympathetically with as much confidence as he could, and then spun on his heel to follow Brienne out of the hall without a single glance at his brother, cursing him. When Jaime had arrived at Winterfell he'd promised himself that he would strive to never give her cause to walk away from him again, and now she was practically running.

_You and me we're searching' for the same light_

Brienne wasn't going back there. She picked up her pace. She had to get out of the sweltering hall. She made for the privy, and then ran up the steps to her chamber where she peeled off her jerkin and leathers, breathing a sigh of relief when the warm but dry air of the room touched the skin under the ties of her shirt. Only then did she allow herself to stop moving.

She sat in the chair by the fire, Oathkeeper glinting from the corner post, and sank her face into her hands. If she'd been more sober at the time, or if she'd been quicker at least to respond to Tyrion, she could have shamed him then and there for drawing attention to something that should remain unspoken in polite company.

Jaime had understood her hesitation. He'd guessed the same as Tyrion when he was first her captive, but he'd been cruel about it. She'd forgiven him that long ago. There was no shame in her maidenhood, and Tyrion's words had not been cruel as Jaime's had when he'd been trying to provoke her as they trudged through the woods, but those memories warring against her affection for him in her mind was too much, and she'd had too much to drink to pull her thoughts apart under Tyrion's scrutiny. So she'd run away.

Now, sitting in the safety of her chamber, she started to pick those thoughts apart, separating the man Jaime had been from the man he was now, the man that she cared for, loved, desired even, she thought, with an ache deep in her belly. She'd never so much as kissed another man, but she knew what that ache meant. And she knew that she felt it for no one but him. She flattered herself that he cared for her – perhaps he loved her too – and that would have to be enough. She would never be beautiful or desirable, but she could and would return loyalty and love.

She stood and added a log to the fire. As the flames claimed the fresh tinder, she became aware of a slow and deliberate knock on her door. Podrick must have finally gotten his wits about him enough to realize that she'd left.

She opened the door ready to send the squire to his chamber, but that instruction died in her throat the moment she saw Jaime standing on the other side.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from "You and Me" by Alecia Moore and Dallas Green (C) 2014

**NOTE: IT'S ABOUT TO GET BLOODY HOT IN HERE**


	32. Book 3, Ch 8: The Maiden and the Warrior

He knew where she would go. And only once Jaime was in the kitchen begging for a pitcher and clean cups did he stop to think she might leave him on the other side of the door again, that she might doubt his intentions. But he had to try.

Much as he tried to push it down, sealing off the past was apparently impossible. As if summoned by the thought, Jaime turned a corner and was stopped short by the sight of the living past sitting peacefully in his chair in the middle of the hallway, staring at him.

"Lord Stark," Jaime greeted.

"Ser Jaime, you left the feast." Brandon Stark didn't seem to have much use for pleasantries.

"Yes. I think I've had enough toasts for one night."

Bran's face didn't exactly change, but as he took in the sight of Jaime juggling his loot from the kitchen, his stoic glance seemed to gain an unsettling ironic sheen. "I was wondering if I might ask you a personal question."

Now the irony was Jaime's to wear. "I thought for sure you knew all there was to know about me,"

"Not all," Bran said rather seriously, lowering his voice.

"All right – what is it?"

"After you pushed Brandon Stark from the tower, he had repeated nightmares."

Jaime blanched, and looked behind him to ensure that no one was listening. "Yes, well I am sorry for that."

"You're no stranger to nightmares, I believe."

Jaime shook his head, "It's worst for most people after a trauma."

The three-eyed raven nodded. "You had a recurring nightmare following your own trauma?"

"I did." Jaime walked to the window and balanced the pitcher there, then turned back to Bran, "I had that same nightmare for a long time."

"Do you still have it sometimes? Do the voices come and find you in the dark only to be scared away by her light?"

Jaime was stunned. He knew that Bran had a penchant for seeing into history, but seeing into Jaime's mind was something he'd not been ready for.

In the dream he was always in that dark wet cellar. The ghosts of his family and former kings would surround him simultaneously beckoning and shaming him, only to be pushed away by Brienne - naked as she'd been in the baths, beautiful to his mind's eye, her eyes shining fiercely in the light emanating from her sword.

He'd had hints of the dream immediately after losing his hand, but it would always end in the dark with the voices screaming, and he'd wake up to find himself still bound, facing backwards on that horse, the rot of his hand mixing with the dank smells of the woods and invading his nostrils, his back pressed against Brienne's as they marched toward Harrenhal. It was only once he'd been forced to leave her behind there that she appeared in the dream itself - it was what had made him go back for her.

He'd never spoken of it to anyone, but sometimes he suspected that Brienne and Qyburn had known more about his night terrors than he had. It had continued through most of their journey to King's Landing, but sometimes he'd woken in the dark before the ghosts could even appear. On those occasions, he'd opened his eyes to find Brienne snoring lightly as she huddled against him, and he would drift back into a dreamless sleep.

Recently he'd dreamt of fighting the dead, but they were people he'd known. Roose Bolton, Prince Rhaegar, his own father, Locke, they all appeared as wights, and he often woke on hearing Brienne's screams as they clawed at her.

Bran nodded as if sensing Jaime's thoughts.

"She forgave you years ago, Ser Jaime, as I did."

Jaime's mouth went dry. "What did you say?"

"Ser Brienne. There were others who treated her unkindly long after she forgave you your cruelty. You protected her from many, others she protected herself from. Some you're both fighting still. Your bond is stronger than your missteps."

Jaime shook his head with a bitter grin. "Only a foolish man claims to know what's in a woman's heart," he quipped.

Bran tilted his head serenely, "I am not a man."

Jaime licked his dry lips preparing a retort, but Bran interrupted his jibe. "He's dead, you know. _I_ killed him."

Jaime started, taken aback by the declaration. "Who?"

Bran's response was matter-of-fact. "The man with the bear."

Jaime rocked back on his heels, choking out the name, "Locke?"

"He was the same man who maimed you, was he not?"

His voice was trapped in his throat, and he was only able to strangle out the merest assent, joined with a nod before croaking "How?"

"Does it matter? He was north of the wall, a pretender in the night's watch. He was sent by the Boltons to find me and bring me back here. He failed."

"I hope it wasn't a quick death."

"Quicker than he deserved."

Jaime nodded. "It's not that I'm not glad, but why are you telling me this?"

"You're not the only one who has nightmares, Ser Jaime. She was there too."

"Then why not tell her?"

"She only trusts you," the raven said simply, giving him a nod of dismissal.

Jaime shifted the cups against his body as a queer sort of warmth filled his limbs. Sensing that Bran was done with him, he picked up the pitcher again, nodding his exit, and turned to go down the next corridor, but then he looked back at Bran, swallowing. "I confess I'm still not sure where I fit in here."

Bran looked at him very curiously, a small smile flitting across his face. "You have one half of Ned Stark's sword. And she has the other. They belong together. As long as they are, you are right where you are meant to be, Ser Jaime."

The meaning behind Bran's words hit Jaime in his chest, and he was filled with a sudden maddening energy. The sensation was gone as quickly as it had come, but it left him feeling powerful, and sweating as if he'd just run for miles.

He turned from Bran in a daze, hefting the cups, and jogged down the corridor. He climbed the steps to their familiar lodgings, careful not to spill anything on the landing lest it freeze in the northern air and cause some drunken fool to slip to his death.

He had no free hand, so he knocked on her door using the pitcher, its contents sloshing back and forth.

When she opened it, she looked as if she'd been expecting someone else, and he could see that the ghost of her pain was in her eyes still. But when she didn't slam the door in his face as she had the week before, Jaime took advantage of the moment. "You didn't drink." He dropped his eyes and skirted past her through the doorway.

It was the first time that Jaime had walked into her room without her invitation, and she was confused by his trespass, thinking him either mad or drunk or both. She turned to face him, slowly closing the door. "I didn't drink?"

"In the game," he swallowed, "you didn't finish the game." She watched from behind him as he filled the cups from the pitcher.

"I drank, and I don't think either of us needs more."

He gave her a sheepish but insistent look over his shoulder, then turned and held a cup out to her. "You're right. It's only water."

She let out a huff of a breath, half laughing as she took the cup, offering up the shade of a small defeated grin. She should have known what he was about. His brother was the source of her frustration, not him. "Thank you." She drank deeply, closing her eyes to the cool liquid.

_Desperate for a cure to this disease_

Her room was overly warm, made worse by the heat his body was still feeling. "You keep it warm enough in here," he muttered as he crossed toward her bed and removed his jacket. He'd gotten good at unbuckling it, but the sleeves were a constant struggle for his arm.

She watched from a distance as he tried to shrug the jacket off. "It's the first thing I learned when I came to the north: keep a fire going. Every time you leave the room, put more wood on."

Jaime finally managed to wrest his arms from the leather and threw the offensive jacket to the floor, turning back to her with a jape, "Well that's very diligent, very responsible," he teased.

"Piss off, Jaime," she laughed, seeing how disheveled he'd become from his jacket efforts. He grinned at her retort and walked back to the table, standing almost eye-to-eye with her, recognizing what little in the way of clothing now stood between them, "You know the first thing I learned in the north? I hate the fucking north."

"It grows on you."

His eyes caught on the edges of the scar at her neck, and he forced himself to meet her eyes again.

"It has yet grow on me. You were right when you said I preferred the coast – being inland makes me feel trapped."

"I grew up on an island. I know what you mean."

Jaime's mouth felt dry again and he stepped past her and reached for the water. He knew that Tyrion was probably right about where her duty would eventually lie, but he was done letting others make assumptions for him. He needed to hear it from her.

"Do you miss it, Tarth?"

Brienne nodded, a faraway smile reaching her eyes as she looked past him into the flames.

"Will you go back?"

She worried at her lip, captivating him with the way she pulled the lip across her teeth, flattening out the dagger-shaped scar.

He took a step towards her. "What is it?"

She started and released her lip, searching his eyes for the source of his question, finally giving in.

"I will go back. Eventually. The Stark girls are home now, they're safe-"

'—thanks to you," he cut in.

"—thanks to us," she amended with a nod. "As soon as this wretched business with Daenerys and…as soon as the war is over and I know that they will remain safe, I plan to go home. My father is very capable, but time is not on his side. My place will be there."

"Not much for a couple of knights to do on a peaceful island, I should think."

She looked at him curiously, but continued, "But life has to go on, doesn't it? Unless it doesn't? I don't have much hope for the house of Tarth beyond me – I've spurned every attempt by my father to marry me off to simpering power-hungry men. I believe he gave up the moment I took the rainbow cloak in Renly's Kingsguard. But he would never take my birthright from me, so it will be my duty to see that the island is left in good management when I am gone."

"You've got plenty of time, Brienne, you could-"

She shook her head. "-I'm sure this will sound selfish, but I could never concede to marry anyone who didn't want me to wife, and no one does. The future of Tarth is important, but I am not a brood mare."

"No, you're not," he agreed quietly, his voice getting hoarse, "But do you really think it so unlikely that a man could want you?"

She blushed with a quiet rage and looked away. "Please, Jaime, I've had enough of this for one night."

"I'm serious," he said adamantly, "the wildling certainly fancies you," he deflected.

She gave him a withering glare, pressing him into a decidedly un-serious tone, "What's wrong? Do you not think that Tormund Giantsbane would fare well in the south?"

It sounded like a challenge, and Brienne felt that molten ball in her center start to expand until it felt suddenly as if all the pieces of her had fallen into place. "You sound quite jealous," a test of the waters.

"—and what if I am?" another challenge, unblinking, unwavering.

An unconscious sigh escaped into the air, the charge between them so strong that neither was sure whether they were breathing, let alone who the sigh had come from. She started worrying at her lip again, and he felt his body shift, all of the tension, pain and ignorance between them dropping away. In his mind, he could see all the times she'd walked away from him, either out of disappointment or anger, because he'd pushed her away, or because she was literally escaping from him. And the remnants of the regret that had been born of those choices dissolved into nothing but heat. And he was sweating again.

He tore his eyes from her, muttering under his breath as he reached for the laces at his collar, desperately wanting to be rid of the shirt.

"It's bloody hot in here!"

She was frozen in place, unsure of herself, unsure of him, certain only that she wanted to be touching him, and that she wanted to feel the familiar blaze of his hands on her skin. He was pulling at the strings with his teeth now, and she couldn't bear it any longer. "Oh, move aside," she muttered impatiently knocking his hand away and moving both of hers to his neck and making quick work of the knots.

He looked up at her in surprise, his eyes darkening as he focused on the neck of her shift. He reached around her arm and dared to loop a finger into the loose bow at the top of the shirt. Brienne stopped her ministrations and arrested his hand with one of hers, the other still anchored in the laces at his neck, a tangible spark igniting where they met in a completed circuit.

"What are you doing?"

He saw the question – the real question – in her eyes then. Without breaking eye contact or shaking her off, he pulled on the bow and nearly growled, "taking your shirt off." She clasped his hand and lowered it to the side, and for a moment he thought that she was rejecting him. He'd never seduced anyone before in his life. His only other lover having been the one to drag him to bed in the first place. He searched her face for signs of denial, but then her eyes widened in semi-shock as she finally identified the desire in his eyes. She squeezed his hand and finally let go, bringing both of hers up to her own chest.

He studied her face with wet eyes as her fingers danced across the laces. He wanted to sooth all of her worry lines, to absorb the broken vessels across the sea of her beautiful brow. As she reached the final bow, his eyes dropped to the indent on her upper lip, the desire to press his tongue to it and memorize its depth nearly overpowering him. She raised her eyes again, searching his for any sign of change or refusal at the sight of her, but he only stared at her in wonder of her steadfast independence.

Then she was reaching for his waist and tugging his shirt from his breeches. She pulled him minutely closer before he raised his arms so that she could free him of it, kissing his ribcage with her knuckles, and carefully working around the fresh scars that adorned his right arm, and peeling the sleeve from the leather cuff before dropping the offending linen to the ground behind him, their closeness leaving them both in a temporary daze.

Her eyes raked his chest, recalling the feel of it grazing across her skin when she'd cradled his feverish body in the baths. Desperate to feel it again, she tore her shirt from her shoulders, exposing herself as fervently as she had at Harrenhal, but this time with want rather than anger.

He swallowed hard to keep from crying out or cursing Locke's name aloud. The scars along her collarbone shone in the firelight marking a familiar terrain just above newer and strange angry red landmarks, scabbing cuts and unhealed bruises marring the space between her breasts, just above her heart, and traveling down to her belly. Pressure wounds, he realized, from the crush of the dead, the cuts likely due in part to her tearing away from the dead Dothraki just before the bodies had fallen.

He raised his eyes to her face reverently. He'd never been religious or put stock in the Seven. But in that moment, he was sure that the woman before him was the warrior and the maiden made both flesh and light. The maiden had pulled him from his waking darkness, just as the warrior had pushed away the shadows in his dreams. A truer knight there never was, and she was his, as he was completely hers.

_Well some days are better than others_

She watched him take in her uncertainty as it mixed with both tears and lust, and when he raised his eyes to her, she saw her own desires reflected back at her, and the fire in her belly erupted, a million tiny flames scattering across her body, her breath catching in her chest as he gazed at her, his breath on her neck.

"I've never slept with a knight before."

She sighed through her nose and her voice but a whisper as her chin trembled, "I've never slept with anyone before."

"Then you have to drink," he said with a smile shining in his eyes. "The game's not over until you do."

"I told y—"

_But I fear no thing as long as you're with me_

He captured her lips with his, swallowing her rebuke.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from "You and Me" by Alecia Moore and Dallas Green (C) 2014

**NOTE: *WHISPERS* I THINK WE MIGHT BE DUE FOR A RATING CHANGE.**


	33. Book 3, Ch 9: I Am Yours

Note: The rating on this story has changed. Full smut ahead.

* * *

_They say everything it happens for a reason_

He wanted to see her. As his mouth claimed her, he kept his eyes on her, reassuring himself that she was real, she was here, and she was not Cersei. Only when his tongue grazed that scar on her lip did he finally surrender.

Brienne nearly crumbled at his touch, unsure of what to do or where to move. But then his hand was in her hair urging her toward him. He tried to lean back to go slower, but she thought he was pulling away so she bravely chased his lips, deepening the kiss instead. He pushed urgently against her mouth and she pushed back, a moan rising up from her center when he suckled on her lip. Her left hand snaked up his shoulder to cradle his jaw and she felt his pulse racing beneath her hand.

His arm was bent between their bodies as he clasped her neck, and she found herself arching her back toward him, straining for more contact. The wiry tarnished golden hair on his chest teased her nipples, and she groaned into his mouth, his beard pleasantly coarse against her face. She hooked her right hand under his arm and clasped his shoulder. She wanted to feel him against her, for him to make her whole.

He wanted to get closer, to be pressed against her, body and soul. He wrapped his right arm around her, but at the touch of the cool metal she hissed and backed up. He reached for her as she pulled away, but she caught his right arm, her fingers going to the straps. She stared into his eyes, pleading with him to trust her which he acknowledged only with a breathy utterance of her name.

The straps were opened quickly, and then she hooked her nimble fingers under the stocking that protected the stump from the leather, peeling it off as she pulled the golden apparatus toward her, eyes meeting his again. She held onto him with one hand, and set the contraption down on a chair with the other. He was breathing heavily as she lowered her eyes to examine the scarring, new and old. As she cradled his arm between her breasts, the arm that no one else had held like this, the arm that Cersei had been terrified of, she touched with her fingertips the healing pink claw marks, which she'd pored over right after the battle.

He swallowed and inched the scarred wrist up to graze the deep marks at her neck, provoking a shuddering gasp. She could see that he was focused solely on the gullies left by the bear, a monogram that mirrored the wight's mark on him. Her body was humming and she was suddenly afraid to look back into his eyes.

_You can be flawed enough but perfect for a person_

Sensing her reticence, he lifted his wrist higher until it was resting just below her jaw where he could feel her pulse driving into the blunt end of his arm. He stared at her, willing her to lift her eyes. When she finally did, they were the deepest pools he'd ever seen, sirens demanding he dive in.

He crushed her lips, his wrist supporting her jaw while his left arm settled into the secret notch of her waist, pulling her flush against him. She moaned loudly as her breasts ground against his chest, and he took advantage of her open satisfied mouth to drive his tongue into it, moaning and grasping her bottom lip with his teeth as she wrapped her arms around his neck, seeking her own need.

He backed up carefully, pulling her with him as he tried to navigate his way to the bed. He felt it to his left and loosened his grip on her torso, circling her middle with both arms and turning his back to the fire. She dropped both hands to his chest and he pulled away from her lips for only a moment, just enough to see her questioning glance, and then began kissing down her jaw causing her to sigh as her fingers raked his shoulders. He put his lips to her collarbone and placed his tongue flat on her scars, sucking as if he could pull the pain of those marks out of her body.

Brienne lifted her face to the ceiling and let out a high-pitched moan, her hands reaching up to dig into the hair behind both his ears and hold him there as she called his name, rooting him in her need. He thought she might come apart right there, and he instantly regretted having waited years to kiss those scars that had been calling to him for so long.

He pulled back and danced his lips back up her neck to her chin, then to her lips again. He lovingly pressed his tongue into the scar that dipped into her upper lip before pulling that lip into his mouth, drawing a whimper from the lady knight.

When he pulled back this time, they were both panting.

"I want to see you."

She kept her eyes on him and lowered her shaking hands, starting to fumble with her breeches, but he stilled her with his hand. Let me. She nodded and placed her hands behind her on the bed. He pulled languorously at the ties, teasing her, not breaking their eye contact, even as the linen pooled at her feet. He pulled her to him again, right arm around her waist, his left arm hanging down, fingers drawing lazy circles on her thigh. She shuddered, never having been touched there by anyone before.

"You're so beautiful"

"Jaime-"

"Do you trust me."

"I trust you."

He breathed deeply and reached down to her center, stroking her hidden platinum curls, searching, and finally landing on that nub of nerves that on Cersei had elicited so little feeling, but on Brienne was explosive. She trembled, and he clutched her waist. "There you are," he said with a grin. She felt like she was floating through fire.

He pushed his fingers down further, reveling in the warmth of her. Finally finding what he was looking for, he braced her back with his arm and kissed her hard as he sank a finger into her. She cried out into his mouth as he began stroking her, pushing deeper. She was impossibly warm. He hesitated only a moment before adding another finger, and her hands came up to clutch blindly at his shoulders.

He kissed down the length of her neck again, pausing at the dip between her collar bones. He kissed the top of each breast, and felt her lace one of her hands into his hair as she rocked her hips against his hand. Her legs opened subconsciously as he marched his lips down her breastbone to her stomach.

He dropped to his knees to worship her and her left hand curled around his ear, bringing his jaw up.

"Trust me," he whispered up to her. He kissed her thigh and slowly pulled his wet fingers from her, making her feel empty. He pulled her knee toward him gently, lifting her foot enough to pull the breeches from her, then did the same to her other leg.

She could feel herself melting at his touch, the fire in her belly threatening to ignite the very furnishings of the room. He looked up at her, maintaining his grip on her leg, and sat back on his heels, pulling it back with him. Nudging her thighs further apart, he scooped up her knee with his right shoulder and brought up his wrist to stroke the outside of her thigh, securing her there.

She looked down at him in confusion as she leaned against the bed, her lips swollen from his ravaging, her nipples tight peaks that he ached to taste. The hand that wasn't on his jaw was pressed against the bed for support

He breathed into her curls as he looked up at her. He'd seen her nude before, her body flushed with anger in the baths. She'd been an intriguing kind of beauty then. Now she was ethereal. "I love you, Brienne."

"Don't."

He was unfazed. "I do. I love you. Let me show you."

He kissed a line across her thigh, sliding his fingers into her again and her whole body tensed, her knee pulling him even closer. He grinned wickedly up at her half-closed eyes and nosed his way into her folds, finding her nub and whispering to it before pulling it into his mouth and then sliding his tongue lower.

Brienne was awash with new pleasure and couldn't tell when his tongue had replaced his fingers, but when he stopped stroking her lips and his tongue curled into her she threw her head back with a shout and her hands clutched anything they could find – one going to the furs, and one digging into his hair.

Sensing that she was about to come loose, he hefted her leg on his shoulder, tightening his grip, and reached up to lace his fingers, still slick, with her other hand. As she tightened her grip on his hair, he moaned into her, and she came apart screaming his name in surprise.

He lapped at her, capturing every bit of her nectar as she went limp, shaking. He flicked his tongue across her nub again and her hips bucked against him as she reached the end of her first bout with ecstacy.

Fearful that the leg she was standing on would give, he slowly lowered the other and kissed her damp curls. Her hand on his head had gone slack and was now trailing through his beard, then found his shoulder and braced herself there. She was whispering something that he couldn't hear. He kissed the inside of her wrist then, steadying himself with the hand she was still gripping, he rose to his feet. Her left hand snuck around his neck and pulled him to her.

"What was that? I've never..."

_Someone who will be there for you when you fall apart_

He kissed her bruised lips lightly as she clutched him and he tried to ease her back until she was sitting on the edge of the bed. He then lifted their joined hands and pushed them further behind her, laying her back. Her head hit the furs with a sigh that he pulled straight into his mouth as his right arm slid under her shoulder, pulling her closer. He hovered over her, one knee on the bed, anchored by his other foot on the floor.

She opened her eyes and separated her hand from his so that she could reach down and grip the band of his breeches. He felt her fingers drag down his stomach and he pulled back to watch her. She pulled her arm from his neck and moved both hands down to his belly, searching his eyes as if for permission. He dove for her mouth again, trapping her hands, and grinding his hips into her lightly.

He dropped his mouth to her neck, sucking on her pulse, stopping when she called his name again.

"Brienne. Brienne look at me."

She did.

"I am yours. All of me. You needn't ever ask." He pulled back enough that she could fumble with the ties. When he felt her start to push the linen past his hips, he pulled back and stood up to push them down to the ground. She took the opportunity to edge up the bed so that her head was against the pillow and she could watch him stalking toward her, his desire driving him forward.

He eased himself back up on the bed, kneeing her thighs apart. Lowering himself onto her frame again, she felt his cock hard on her stomach and when he kissed her, she pulled his lower lip between her teeth, showing her need.

He nipped back at her, then pulled back, positioning himself between her legs. He knew how wet she was, and that he could slide into her right now, and the power of it made him dizzy. But he stopped himself, knowing there would be no turning back from this moment.

"Brienne."

She looked at him.

"We don't have to. We can stop. Tell me to stop and I will. He swallowed. I don't want to you to regret—"

She arched up and pulled his lips down to hers.

"-People are cruel," he whispered against her lips, "I know. They'll think—I don't want them to think that I—"

She reached for him and clasped has face in her hands, looking deep into his eyes,"-Jaime Lannister, I am yours and I do not care who knows. I want all of you. And if you do not see yourself inside me soon, I will defile you myself."

He laughed into her mouth and she lifted her hips against him. He slid into her – tight, wet, easing his way in with a groan that she felt in her throat. He was inside her, stretching her, making her feel whole. He leaned back struggling to keep himself together. He lifted her knee with his hand, spreading her wider as she shifted his hips back, and thrust himself inside her again. Her hands crept to his chest as he marveled at her, pulling back gently, then thrusting again, delighting in the feeling of her nails digging into him every time their hips met. His name becoming a moan in her throat as he pushed harder, removing his hand from her knee and leaning over her on his forearms, wanting to feel her shudders.

She wrapped her leg around him pulling him deeper and her name became a broken syllable of passion on his tongue as bent down to pull a nipple between his teeth as she fisted the furs beneath her.

She pulled her other leg around him, hooking her ankles above his ass and driving him harder, compelling her own artless screams. She saw him looking at her with hunger, and she lost her rhythm as she started to tumble, and her screams became whimpers as she closed her mouth suddenly conscious of her volume. He anchored his hand in her hair and stretched his hand so that his thumb hooked her lip, pulling her mouth open and soliciting a heady moan. He dragged his thumb across her lip, shaking his head.

"Do not hide from me. Am I hurting you?"

"No," she moaned.

"Then don't hide. I want you to scream for me. I want the whole bloody north to know you're mine." He bent his head down again and nipped at her pulse, causing her tighten her grip around his waist and released the furs to clasp her hands in his hair, keeping him there as her hips ground against him wildly as she chanted his name like a sacred tattoo.

He inched his mouth up her neck until he was sucking on her earlobe. He felt himself getting lost in her, and he drove harder, mercilessly into her, chasing his release as he felt her start to clench around him. He desperately put his lips to her ear as he reached down between them with his disfigured arm.

"Come apart for me, Brienne. Come.

His wrist found her nub, ending it all.

She was ready for it this time. Her entire body shattered with release and she pulled him deeper even as she felt herself fall straight off the edge screaming his name. This time she saw stars. She was standing on the highest peak in Tarth, staring up at the moonless night, she could hear the ocean breaking on the rocks, and all the stars of the sky were shining above her as the wind combed through her hair like the fingers of a lover.

She blinked and realized that it was the fingers of her lover. And the sound of the ocean was Jaime roaring her name as he spilled deep inside of her. He collapsed his full weight onto her, his hand tangled in her hair, their bodies shaking with aftershocks. His head rested between her breasts and his mouth soundlessly formed her name over and over.

Keeping one hand in his damp hair, she lowered the other, stroking his neck, then his shoulder blades, feeling his body as slick with sweat as hers felt. Slowly, stiffly, she unhooked her ankles and stretched her legs out, feeling the backs of his legs with her heels, then dragged her feet back up until her knees were cradling his hips again.

He slowly looked up at her, placing feathery kisses across her skin as he turned. She smiled sleepily, and he slowly extracted his hand from her hair in order to prop himself up. When he shifted, she whimpered, immediately missing the weight of him on her. He bent down and kissed her sweetly as he pulled out of her, the mixture of them stealing down her thigh. Without breaking the kiss, he rolled onto his side, stroking her waist with his wrist while his hand entwined with hers. And he panicked as tears formed in her eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"I feel as if…" She brought her other hand over, holding his with both of hers, the heat already beginning to fade. "I don't want to go to sleep for fear that this will not have been real. I have too many nightmares, Jaime. I can't wake up and not find you here." He leaned over and gently kissed the corner of her mouth, remembering what Bran had said.

_Guiding your direction when you're riding through the dark_

"The nightmares aren't real, Brienne. I am. This is. I'm not going anywhere." He released her hands, and stroked her face. With a grunt, he reached down awkwardly to yank the furs up, and draped them over her shoulders, before settling his hand against her cheek again.

"Sleep."

She smiled and kissed his palm as her eyelids drooped.

"I love you," she sighed. He grinned, his own eyelids drooping as he brushed a solitary rogue tear from her cheek.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from "You and Me" by Alecia Moore and Dallas Green (C) 2014


	34. Book 3, Ch 10: You Are Mine

_And they say, everything it happens for a reason_

She woke with the dawn. The fire was cold but the bed felt scorched with their combined heat beneath the furs. She had rolled onto her side in the night, and he was no longer touching her, but she knew that he was there behind her, just out of reach.

His left arm was extended across the bed, his hand resting just behind her head, his fingers tempted to entwine themselves in the golden filaments of her hair. He'd woken from a fitful dream in the dark a quarter of an hour prior, reaching for her, opening his eyes when he realized she had rolled away from him. Rather than pull her to him, he remained as he was now, stretched out toward her with hesitation, breathing her in.

He'd dreamt of her. And he'd dreamt of Cersei. The latter seemed to beckon to him from across Westeros with her wine-stained mouth and poisonous words, but he turned from her at the scent of steel and soap mixed with honeyed herbs permeating the space, and all he had to do was look into Brienne's bright blue steadfast eyes and know he was home, that he was no longer Cersei's creature. When he woke, that feeling of comfort was rapidly replaced with anguish.

He fretted over her as he stroked her hair on the pillow. Even with her assurances, he worried that she might wake and feel ashamed. That she felt pressured by him, by Tyrion and the wine, that she'd reproach him for following her to her room for losing himself inside her. Or that she'd renew her self-loathing for vouching for his honor and then letting him despoil her, rejecting him in the daylight. She deserved better than his compromised honor and his ruined body, but he could not stand the thought of her loving someone else. He watched her shiver beneath the furs as she shifted her legs in sleep, and he wondered what she must be dreaming of, wondered if she was running from him in her mind.

_You can be flawed enough but perfect for a person_

She felt his hand stirring her hair absently as if he didn't know she was awake. With a pang she recognized how badly she wanted him to touch her again, and she shivered at the thought. She stretched her legs out and closed her eyes again, picturing his body against hers, and she decided she had to be close to him again.

Without warning, she rolled over with her eyes still closed, as if tossing in her sleep. Jaime didn't have a chance to shift out of the way, and before he knew what was happening, Brienne was nose to nose with him, her face nuzzling his palm in feigned sleep as her long powerful left leg hooked around his right, anchoring him.

He sucked in a sharp breath as one hand came up to fondle his beard while the other drowsily stroked his belly, hints of a contented smile slowly spreading across her face as she imagined falling asleep here and being happy to the end of her days.

Still fearful of her waking regret, Jaime traced her outline lightly with his wrist – from her scars to the curve of her shoulder, down her rib cage and the dip in her waist, and back up the rise of her hip to rest at the joint of her hip and pelvis where, if he still had that hand, he might have pressed his thumb as he sank into her. She leaned into the pressure with a moan that woke an ache deep inside him, encouraging him to drop the scarred wrist lower to the juncture of her thighs.

Her eyes snapped open with a gasp and found him watching her, staring anxiously.

He swallowed hard. What if she retreated from him now? What if she forcibly removed him from her bed and that was the last time he would ever feel her callused hands gripping his arms? What would he do if she told him it was all a mistake and she sent him far away? Worse, how would he go on if she regretted him and spent the rest of his days pining after her while she let Tormund Giantsbane burrow into her furs? I bet my honor on yours, she'd said to him. What good was his honor if he had hurt her? He dropped his arm to the bed in shame.

_Someone who will be there for you when you start to fall apart,_

But she'd held him between her legs now. She'd tasted the salt of his skin. She'd felt his want surround her, fill her, and become her own. She wasn't going to let him pull away from her now. With newfound audacity, she tightened her leg's grip on his and dragged her hand up his chest to meet the other, cupping his chin with both hands, her brows knitting together. "What is it?" He looked away without response, and she dropped her hands to his chest, hurt and confused. "Jaime?"

He finally met her eyes again as the dawn began to light the shadows of the room. "Have I…have I dishonored you?"

"What? No!" She nearly laughed as brought her forehead to his, her nose angling against his as she took in the smell of him – sweat, worn leather, the honey and herbs that salved their wounds, and something else, familiar and musky that she suspected with a rush might be hers.

"I should not have made you drink all that wine."

"You didn't," she said incredulously. "And I did not do anything that I did not wish to do." She hooked his leg again with meaning, "That I haven't wished to do. You are mine, Jaime Lannister. You will not get rid of me that easily."

"I can go to the maester for you...make up some excuse for needing the herbs or tea, anything you require. I should have been more careful."

"I can go myself."

"And risk your reputation?" He shook his head.

"Jaime, look at me. Look at me." She forced his chin up to meet her eyes, threatening tears. "I do not care what people think of me. And I do not wish to hide - I can't hide any longer. Last night you called my name just as loudly as I called yours." She brushed his lips with her thumbs and she breathed him in, her voice getting huskier as his chest pressed hers. "Do you know what you do to me, Jaime? You make me feel whole. Even before this, before last night. All that time apart, years of telling myself that I did not want you, and yet the moment I would see you, I would feel whole. I would not trade that feeling for anything, and I will not hide it anymore, from myself or you or anyone else. There is no shame in this. We have earned this."

Jaime had spent most of his life hiding. Hiding his relationship with Cersei from their father, and later from everyone in the capital. Hiding the parentage of his children. Hiding his affection for Brienne from his father and Cersei. He'd spent so much time burying his most intimate relationships - including his love for Brienne - that he hadn't the first idea of what it would be like to love anyone - to truly love them - in front of others. The idea thrilled him, made him ache for her, his cock stirring against his leg. "You're not angry," he hesitated.

"Of course not. Why-," she started to pull back, "unless you're..." she froze at the thought that he might be trying to pull away, that he did not want her after this, "unless you think that we shouldn't...are you having regre—"

He barely let the word escape her mouth before he was on her, kissing the word away from her. His hand tangled in her hair and his right arm pulled her waist to him fully, causing her to whimper into his mouth when she felt his hardness pressing against her thigh. She snuck her arms around his shoulder, gripping him to her.

_Guiding your direction when you're riding through the dark_

He broke the kiss with a cry and buried his face in her neck. "My only regret," he mumbled into her shoulder, "is being a damn fool until this moment. To think that I could have - we could have...why did we fight it for so long?" She kissed his forehead and dropped her hand to his arm, absentmindedly running it up and down, raising the hairs she found there, until she found and clasped the end of his wrist, eliciting a gasp from mouth as his teeth grazed her collarbone. He pulled back to study her. "Does it hurt?"

He shook his head, offering her a wry grin. "It's just an odd sensation. No one touches this arm – it bothers people. So now…when I touch you…" he illustrated by dragging the wrist up the side of her ribs and breast, feeling her sigh deeply as he traced a line to the center of her chest, "it's not the same as having the hand, but heat and cold are more…intense, magnified somehow."

She touched his elbow, holding him there and looking down at his chest.

"Gods, sometimes... sometimes I wish that I had the hand still. Right now, for instance."

"It's like this because of me."

He shook his head. "No, you know better than that. My pride did this. Once they dragged you back from the darkness, once you stopped screaming, "he closed his eyes, shuddering at the memory of Locke's men putting their hands on her, "I should have been content that your torment was at an end, that you were safe – as safe as you could have been given the circumstances. But I thought that I could persuade Locke...I would do it all again. I would do it all again to save you. I would die for you." He stopped as he felt her shudder, and he stroked the back of her neck. "Brienne."

She raised watery eyes to meet his, her fingers circling his elbow.

"He's dead, Brienne. He can't hurt us."

"You can't know that."

"I have it on very good authority. He's gone."

"But—"

She started to argue but he brought the end of his arm up to her lips to silence her, shivering at the sensation of her open mouth against it.

_Oh that's you and me_

She clutched the arm to her chest as he continued, "And were he alive, he couldn't touch us. When he... you remember, I wanted to die. Left to my own devices, I would have. I'd have drowned myself in the mud or starved myself. But you forced me to live. You made me want to live. Without you, I would be dead many times over."

She studied the scaring from Qyburn's ministrations, his fingers in her hair driving her to distraction. She kissed her way down his arm, pressing the wrist to the scars at her neck with a deep breath. "And I, You."

_Oh that's you and me_

He drew his wrist up her neck and lifted her chin until he could see the pools of her eyes lit up in the purple dawn, stars shimmering in depthless lakes as she reached her hand down to stroke the skin dangerously close to his cock. "No one can touch us Brienne. You are mine. I swear it," he panted, fisting his hand in her hair and pulling her closer as her tongue ran across her lips, "We're strong together. We will chase the nightmares away, together."

_Oh that's you and me_

She looked from his eyes to his lips and back again, wrapping her hand around the back of his pulling herself closer, her hips seeking his. He breathed her name and their bodies collided.

_That's you and me_

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from "You and Me" by Alecia Moore and Dallas Green (C) 2014


	35. Book 3, Ch 11: The Madness (Epilogue)

_TW: Rape, Mental Illness, Cersei_

* * *

Cersei stood overlooking Blackwater Bay, the Golden Company in her sights. Euron Greyjoy had fulfilled his promise. His dedication was a means to an end for her, no more. If he meant to crawl between her legs for his troubles, so be it. She put her hand to her flat stomach, imagining, wishing that she could feel a babe grow there.

She'd convinced Jaime that she was with child for a time, a ruse to keep her twin coming back to her bed to satisfy her as she prayed to any of the gods she'd not fallen afoul of that he would put another Lannister in her. Not that there were any gods left for her. And not that she was ever satisfied.

Jaime hadn't managed to satisfy her in ages. Not since before he'd gone to war with their father and gotten captured by the Starks. He was gone for 2 years then, and she'd made do with his absence by bringing others into her bed – younger, more supple specimens with whom she could do as she wished.

When Jaime finally returned to her, he had lost a hand and gained a lurching she-beast – two things that made her unwilling to entertain the idea of touching him. So long as the great blonde cow was about, Jaime had been positively distracted. He'd thought she didn't know, but Cersei had her spies everywhere, and she knew everything that happened in the city – and most things that happened outside of it.

She'd known, for instance, that her darling brother had betrayed her trust multiple times – with their younger brother and others – but she always made a show of bringing him back to her heart, even while ensuring that he was surrounded by those dedicated to her. She had him well-trained to beg forgiveness.

She'd known that Jaime was training his left arm for the sword with one of their baby brother's hangers-on - a man who, it turned out, was easy to flip with promises of wealth. And she'd known that Jaime would often take to the gardens with the giant tart in the evenings following his sparring practices, ushering her into the corners where he must have thought they wouldn't be heard sparring verbally, laughing with one another.

She also knew that Jaime had commissioned a set of armor not for him, not for any man, shortly before the flaxen ogress had vanished from the capital. What she had not known until recently, however, was that in addition to the armor, he'd given the harlot his sword. A Lannister sword made of Valyrian steel which their father'd had made. Upon Joffrey's death, Jaime had worn her son's sword – a wedding gift – out of respect to the fallen king. She'd never thought to ask what might have happened to the other – the one with the brilliant golden lion pommel set with family rubies. With Jaime carrying the other, she'd assumed that the larger sword – likely too unwieldly for his inferior left hand – was mounted somewhere in the White Sword Tower among the other Kingsguard relics.

But then she saw it. Not three months ago, she saw the sword on the hip of that cretinous bitch at the dragon pit. Distracted by the sight of the brother that had murdered their father, Cersei hadn't noticed the woman on the way to her dais. But when she'd turned around to sit, she couldn't have missed her staring at Jaime, the long-forgotten lion pommel clutched in her hand.

As far as she'd known prior to that, the two had not set eyes on each other in nearly four years, though their silent communications across the pit and their familiarity on their departure belied that in her estimation. On the day Jaime had fled for Winterfell she'd had his steward captured while trying to leave the capital, and Qyburn had tortured some fascinating tidbits out of the man before he'd succumbed to his wounds.

So she now knew that not only had her brother given the beast his sword, but he'd also seen her as recently as a year and a half ago, and in fact it had been she who had convinced Jaime to spare the lives of the Tully men at Riverrun rather than destroying every last one of them as Cersei had insisted. And then adding insult to injury, the man Daven had suggested that the only reason Jaime had come back to her bed in recent months had been his grief in thinking that the tawny troll had died in the north. If the steward hadn't perished shortly after that, Cersei might have marched down to the dungeons and slit his throat herself. As it was, she had her Lannister men who'd been at Riverrun - the ones who'd failed to communicate Brienne of Tarth's movements there with her brother - summarily executes.

Jaime fleeing north had been a blessing for Cersei. She was now free to hate him for his actions rather than pretending to need him despite them. If he wanted to run off and chase that mangy creature into the woods and then get killed by dead men, so be it. So long as he died, the rest didn't matter. She would find someone else – someone more powerful than her weak brother – to sire the king she would bring into the world.

Cersei smirked as the wind carried the ocean air and pungent jasmine up over the battlements. Her army and fleet were here, and she and her child to come would be well-protected in the war, be it with dragons or dead men.

On hearing the shuffling steps behind her, Cersei half-turned back toward the keep and saw Qyburn, Hand to the Queen, making his way toward her, his hands sunken into his robes and looking troubled.

"Your grace," Qyburn hesitated.

"What news?" she asked cooly.

"There were two ravens today." He pulled a scroll from his sleeve. "One must have gotten lost for the second made the first unnecessary."

"Go on."

"Your grace, the dead breached the wall at Eastwatch by the Sea-"

"Good," said Cersei with finality. "They will crush the north, crush all our enemies including my traitorous brothers, and then our armies will stop them at the gates. Thank you, Lord Hand."

"I'm afraid that's not all, your grace." Qyburn pocketed the first scroll and pulled out the second. "That raven must have been lost in winter fog. It's the news from the second that will be most…informative."

"News of Winterfell?"

"Aye. It seems they were successful in stopping the dead, your grace."

"Were they?"

"They lost approximately half of their forces in the battle. But the dead no longer march. No information yet on when the Dragon Queen intends to make her move."

"We'll be ready when she does. Was there any other news – of my brothers, perhaps?"

"Nothing from Ser Bronn yet as to his success, your grace, but there was a mention of one of your brothers with this raven, though I'm not sure—"

"-Spit it out."

Qyburn took a breath. "According to our spies in the north, the Maid of Tarth is a maid no more. She and Ser Jaime are lovers...your grace."

Cersei stilled. "So he went and fucked the bitch", she marveled. And if Ser Bronn was unsuccessful in his mission, which she doubted but it was a possibility, then one if not both of her treacherous brothers could be marching on King's Landing in a matter of weeks. "He was supposed to die, not domesticate himself with that freckled tree of a woman."

She blew steaming breaths from her nose as she raged in the sunset, but the heat of her anger was quickly overpowered by a cold calm that sank into her body.

She would enjoy watching the Mountain tear Jaime's whore apart slowly, preferably making use of the sword she carried and had no right to wield. Perhaps she would command him to fuck her with it. Jaime would enjoy watching it less than she of course, but she'd be there to make sure he did watch. And then she would bathe him in the dead slut's blood before letting him finally put another Lannister cub in her belly.

She patted her stomach wistfully. "Soon, my love," she muttered, "soon."

_That's you and me_.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from "You and Me" by Alecia Moore and Dallas Green (C) 2014

**So we come to the end of another book. To my dear and loyal readers, thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking through this.**

**I always knew that the end of book 3 would be what wound up being Ch 34, followed by a scene like this one that literally makes me want to vomit, but which was always going to be necessary, regardless of whether the story remained canon compliant or not. Chapter 34 (You Are Mine) is the first thing that I wrote when crafting this series - it was one of the first things I've ever written fanfic-wise, and it was incredibly important to me that the way these characters intertwined made sense going into the morning after, and that their stakes were high enough for them personally to merit Cersei's reaction.**

**Up until a month ago, I had never written anything like this. But these characters sing to me in a way that I cannot deny them, which is why you're all getting this story. To those of you who've reached out personally via messages, thank you for your encouragement and support.**

**I know that I probably need a break from this. I've been writing this story for a month straight now, and my sleep is suffering for it. I blame the Jaime in my head - the one in this story - for being constantly in my ear talking about how dedicated he is to Brienne. The idiot does not shut up.**

**I'd like to say that I'm going to take the break I need before Book 4 begins. But I'm making no promises to myself. I'm going to be wading into uncharted territory as this thing starts to veer away from canon (because yeah, it's going there, guys, you're welcome) and I don't know that I'm as creative as I need to be to get that moving, so there may be some slowness, but I promise to bring this thing to a conclusion that is neither exactly canon, nor tedious (I hope).**

**Most importantly, I promise to continue to try and do justice to Brienne, who deserves the world. xoxo**


	36. BREAK IN Book 4, Ch 1: The Chamber

The evenings at Winterfell were colder without Jaime.

Brienne wrapped her cloak around her. She'd settled into a new routine of late by necessity, one that allowed her the solitude of her thoughts that she required, but embracing her new normal.

_Put your lighter in the air and lead me back home_

Sansa had seen to it that Brienne had that freedom. The lady of Winterfell had been very kind, ensuring that her bannermen knew Brienne's title and position, and guarding her against their open censure, even though their words could affect her little. Brienne often wondered now which one of them was truly protecting the other.

Sentry duty was a task that Brienne could perform without concerning herself with the sensitivities of others. She could sit on the parapet and hold court with only the stars - the same stars that she knew oversaw all of Westeros from Winterfell to Dorne, and from Casterly Rock to Tarth. Even King's Landing was blessed with the same view. The latter left the bitterest taste in her mouth, for it had swallowed so many of her happiest memories.

She thought often of the garden paths that she and Jaime had sometimes walked in the late afternoon while he recounted how Bronn had out-maneuvered and beaten him using his own hand, or the wry smile he'd greeted her with the first day that Bronn had let him spar with a real sword, giddy as a boy.

She recalled how, in the early months of her stay there, when summer seemed to still linger, they'd once silently walked the stone steps in twilight down to the beach that led to the foot of the red keep, those same stars peeking out from the darkening sky, and it had felt as if they were the only two beings for miles save for the fireflies that danced across the grassy dunes.

It had been friendly, nothing else - that was what they each told themselves independently. Two people struggling to make up for having been awful to one another for the entire first year of their acquaintance. Two people who to an outsider seemed to have little in common, but who had suffered much together, and who were both quietly seeking something like forgiveness.

After Joffrey's murder she had assumed that their weekly walks were at an end. Sansa had vanished, and with her any hope Brienne had of gaining her trust. She'd planned to make her exit quietly and go in search of Arya. But she'd still not been able to secure new armor for herself, and with Tywin Lannister on the war path and Jaime's brother Tyrion in chains, she knew not to make more adamant enquiries lest she bring down suspicion on herself or Jaime.

So she'd been surprised when Jaime had accosted her at the stables three days after the wretched event and practically dragged her by her sleeve to the spot on the bay where she knew he usually sparred with Bronn, and insisted that they continue their fight from the bridge – the one they'd been engaged in just before they were taken by Locke and his men. The last one Jaime had fought before the loss of his sword hand.

"I need to forget," he'd said. "I need someone who isn't going to harass me, or try to jest with me, someone who won't hold back." She bested him twice that afternoon, but by the time the sun began to set behind the keep he'd found his rhythm and finally knocked the sword from her hands. When she yielded, he thanked her and pressed her hand before walking back to the yard with her, side by side.

_When it's all said and done and follow where the air goes_

Within a couple of weeks, he started to seem more like himself again, more able to laugh at least. Their sparring continued but there was something more guarded about him that Brienne couldn't place which she tried to attribute to his mourning, but it didn't quite fit. He'd begun insisting that they meet at dawn, separating before the sun reached the yard. Then he'd started enquiring after her security - whether she'd sensed anyone following her of late, whether her chamber door was being locked at night. She'd noticed no one, but after that she would sometimes see his steward seemingly keeping an eye on her from a distance when she was outside the walls of the guest quarters.

One morning, shortly before she left the capital, she woke early for their assignation and found him asleep outside her door. When she woke him, he'd insisted that he'd not been there long - he'd simply been kept up by nightmares elsewhere and decided to wait for her, but she suspected that he'd actually been trying to guard her door.

Two days after that, he'd sent her away.

She'd been puzzled when he'd asked her to meet him in the stables instead of their normal sparring ground, and was surprised still when he escorted her up a secluded stairwell that lead into the keep. They wound their way up what must have been the stairway for the servants, encountering no one, and arriving finally in the White Sword Tower.

When he revealed the armor he'd had made for her, having carefully estimated her measurements and somehow convinced the armorers to create something in that color, she knew it was a good bye before he even said the words. And when he secreted her out of the tower in her new armor and carrying the magnificent sword he'd given her, and led her down a shady lane to a rendezvous with Bronn and Pod, she realized that it was not just a good bye. It was an escape. He was the only man from whom she would have accepted that kind of protection at the time, and she knew then that she would never see him again. Or so she'd imagined.

With distance and time and continued denial of her feelings, saying good bye to Jaime had only gotten more difficult after that.

When Declan came to relieve her of her duty on the wall, she was relieved. The night had turned bitter, and she wished to be back in the warmth of her chamber.

When Tyrion had left Winterfell with Daenerys, their party heading for White Harbor to begin the long trek to Dragonstone over the icy sea, he'd suggested that Brienne and Jaime be moved together to the chamber he was vacating. Sansa had been scandalized and told him that it would be deemed indecent, but Tyrion had only laughed at her.

"It'll be big enough for the two of them," he'd said, "and the walls in that wing are thicker. Perhaps everyone would get a bit more sleep?" He hadn't been so cavalier as to look at Brienne then, but if he had he would have seen her neck and cheeks ripen like a berry. Sansa had scoffed at her former husband, insisting that she still didn't trust the Kingslayer and wouldn't want him so close to her own chambers.

But Tyrion put that to rest as well, sidling up to Brienne as if taking her side. "But you do trust Brienne," he'd said, "and she loves him. If you're so concerned with foul rumors, then do something about it, but don't pretend that it's about your lack of warmth toward my brother. You're the lady of Winterfell. It's your choice. But if you're going to insist on forcing them to marry to save your own name, then I only ask that you summon a septon now and make them to do so before I leave so that I may give the groom away."

There'd been no argument after that. And Tyrion, much to his chagrin, did not get to give the groom away.

But they'd moved to that chamber. And they'd been happy.

_I hear you night after night calling out my name_

Brienne walked down the winding hall that lead to the East Wing, her steps echoing in the dark. They'd gotten word that Tyrion and the Queen had reached White Harbor just that afternoon, the signal for Jon and his men to head south on the Kingsroad. They would leave in the morning and take with them all of the men that Brienne had taken to training each day, and Pod was insisting on going with them, with her blessing.

After today, she would have less to occupy her time or thoughts, there being few Stark bannermen who'd be staying behind, and fewer still who required training. Sansa had offered to find the knight some other occupation, but Brienne had demurred, asking for a little more time before she picked up another brood of squires.

It was very late when she finally made it to her chamber. The fire burned low, a result of her long absence on duty. She fed the flames, then shed her furs. She kicked off her boots, setting them tidily along the wall. Her jerkin folded and put aside, she stepped out of her breeches and let the heat of the building fire stroke her legs. With a sigh she removed her shift and climbed into her bed, the fabric beneath the furs cold and uninviting.

_And I'm finding myself running to meet you_

She pushed herself to the center of the bed, pulling the furs around her until she felt the warmth start to seep deeply enough into her bones that she could stretch out her limbs. Just as she was getting comfortable, she felt an arm creeping around her middle - an arm that ended at the wrist. It hooked up from her waist, settling between her breasts as if pointing to her heart.

"You didn't feed the fire," she admonished.

"It gets too hot in here."

"That's not going to work every time, Jaime."

"Is it working this time?" he pressed into her.

She pushed her elbow back at him playfully, but he squeezed her tighter.

"Why did I let you trick me into this again?"

"It was no trick, Brienne. After my brother left I realized you were all I had in the world and I begged you. It took a couple of days to wear you down, but eventually you gave in, remember?"

"No, I think you must have tricked me into it," she teased, "I don't think I could have been compelled of my own accord to say yes to someone who cared so little for keeping my chamber warm."

"That's strange," he said, with a chuckle, his left hand sliding up the pillow and stroking her hair, his voice warm and gravely in her ear, "I recall you saying 'yes' quite fervently and often yesterday after the ceremony, and I think we kept it quite warm." He nipped at her ear and she snorted, turning over to face him.

She sighed into his neck as his arm rested on her hip. He could see that she was exhausted, her hands barely able to reach for him. Tomorrow was the first time she wouldn't need to train all day and then stay up til moonfall on the wall. She could rest, duties cast aside for one day. He would have his wife all to himself.

Her eyelids began to droop, and he nudged her with his nose, "When do they leave?"

"An hour after dawn. Jon wants to give the snow a chance to soften before they set out."

"Shall I wake you so that we can see Podrick off?"

She smiled slightly, her lashes fluttering, and nodded, curling up against his shoulder.

"Are you worried about him?"

"He's very capable."

"We could still petition Sansa to let us go with them if that's what you wanted."

_I didn't want to escape_

She stared sleepily up into his green eyes and pressed her lips to his chin. "No. He'll be alright. I should remain with Sansa until we know that there won't be further danger. And you're safer with me." She was starting to fall asleep now, and he stroked her arm with his wrist.

"We're safer together," he whispered, "wherever we are." She smiled and hummed an assent, sinking into sleep against him. He kissed her forehead and let himself fall asleep to sound of her heartbeat, watching the firelight dance on the jewels of their twin swords, propped together against the hearth.

_From the bricks that I laid down_

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Halestorm's "Break In" (C) 2012.

**Did you honestly think I would do that to y'all? C'mon.**


	37. Book 4, Ch 2: The Ravens

The last of the winter storms blew through with fog and rolling thunder. Even the free folk preferred the indoors on those days. For those left behind at Winterfell, the fury of the storms brought the battle back to life. The roar of the dead masses and the shock of the dragon fire a constant barrage of memory.

On nights when the storms looked darkest from a distance, Jaime would don a heavy cloak and brave the slippery steps to the top of the wall. After relieving some grateful soldier or another, he could then stand watch together with Brienne. It was on a night such as this that they huddled for shelter in one of the towers in the dark while sleet pounded the walls and he finally recounted the tale of his attack on Daenerys and her dragon – the outcome of it, at least.

He illustrated with little hyperbole how Bronn had risked his own neck, knocking him from his horse at the last moment. And he held her hand in his when he told her of how he'd pictured her holding him as he sank into the river's depths.

She already knew many of his stories by heart, especially the ones having to do with her. He'd whispered them to her in the night while trying to convince her to give up her stubborn reluctance to marry. She knew how he and Bronn had searched for her at the siege of Riverrun. And how he'd imagined himself falling into the Red Fork to follow her north. He'd told her of the look on his steward's face when he'd reported Brienne's arrival - how he'd been in a foul mood after treating with the Blackfish but Daven had braved coming back into the tent, because he'd clearly known then what Jaime hadn't yet admitted to himself, "that I loved you," he had said with a kiss to her knuckles.

"Your sister," Brienne had said cautiously, "she knew I loved you before I knew it."

Jaime had nodded, tightening his grasp on her hand. "She sussed both of us out. Why do you think I lost so much sleep those last few days?"

He'd told her of Cersei's threats and admitted to sending Daven to keep an eye on when he thought the queen might do something rash before he had a chance to plan Brienne's escape from the capital. And he finally admitted to having posted himself by Brienne's door for a full week before she'd tripped on him, his exhaustion finally having caught up with him.

He'd told her many stories, and had eventually gotten her to concede to wed him before the heart tree in the godswood.

But she'd never heard the dragon story.

When she asked what had possessed him to do something so foolish, his only response was "desperation," and he left it at that. She didn't press him further.

Instead, Brienne told him of how she'd executed Stannis, and how she'd felt at sea afterward. "I'd fulfilled my oath to Lady Catelyn, and I'd avenged Renly. But I didn't know where to take myself. I'd already pledged my sword to Sansa, but it wasn't she who called me back to the road. I got on my horse and headed down the Kingsroad, headed south. Podrick caught up with me after I'd gone a few miles past Winterfell, and he shook me until he got a response, asking where we were going, and should he run back to get supplies. Only then did I realize where I was taking myself."

She believed that she would have ridden straight to King's Landing, straight to Jaime, had Pod not stopped her. "I possibly would have ridden straight up the steps to the White Sword Tower if the horse had fit through the door, I was so outside of myself."

"I almost wish you had."

"It wouldn't have been rational. Or safe, you've said so yourself."

"But I would have known that you were alive," he said distantly, painfully, entwining his fingers with hers.

She let it be. Jaime still had his demons. She did her best to quell their voices, but there were episodes of his life and subjects so raw that she knew to avoid still, confident that he would share when he felt safely away of them.

_You are the only one_

On the days when it was too wet to train the youngest men and women left behind by the army, they would attend to the Starks – she to Sansa, he to Bran, who it seemed had taken a liking to having Jaime about. "I amuse him, I think," Jaime had told her.

Arya was often nowhere to be found, but she could sometimes be seen flitting to and fro between the forges of the smithy, and the stables. When Sansa and Bran were occasionally together – usually in the library with the maesters, drafting out maps and schematics of the reconstruction, Brienne and Jaime would weave between the stacks until they found each other, brushing hands or lips as they passed when they thought no one was watching. Brienne stopped trimming her hair after Podrick left, and Jaime enjoyed appearing at her side to tuck a lock of hair discretely behind her ear before disappearing again, the ghost of his fingers burning a path across her cheek.

On brighter days those moments were more fleeting, which made their nights even more exhausting. They had their occasional spats, but those only made them more zealous once they were alone again. Jaime had awakened some ancient in Brienne, and they both craved the inferno that came of laying their souls bare to one another.

Almost a month after Jon Snow had led the army south, another raven arrived, this one from Dragonstone. The maester rushed to meet Sansa with it, Brienne trailing just behind the Lady of Winterfell.

From across the yard, Jaime spotted his wife and had been readying to head her way when he saw the maester walking away from the two women, leaving them whispering together with furrowed brows as they crossed to the opposite end of the castle. He moved to catch up with them near the stables but lost sight of them when a supply cart crossed his path. By the time he reached them, Brienne was reading the missive to herself for the second time, her heart sinking into her stomach just as Jaime appeared around the corner making note of her distress.

"What's happened?"

Sansa spun to see Jaime with his eyes only for Brienne, and with a cool glance she nodded to her sworn sword and left them alone. Once Sansa had crossed the nearest threshold, Jaime moved toward his wife.

"Brienne?"

She looked on him with concern as he approached, unsure of how he would take the news. "Tyrion's written." She rushed ahead before Jaime could be too comforted by news that his brother was at least alive and presumably well, "Euron Greyjoy ambushed the fleet. One of the dragons was killed, and the queen's companion has been captured." She watched as Jaime took in the information.

"With only one dragon—"

"One dragon is still quite a bit."

"Cersei will not rest until she gets her way. And now she has leverage over the queen."

She took a step toward him, alarmed at his vehemence.

"Terms are being discussed – I believe they'll try and save Missandei, but—"

"It would be better if they let her die. If Cersei holds nothing over them, they can just act. She's hateful. There's much less in her way of winning this now. And when she does, we'll all just be sitting here waiting to be slaughtered. What were they thinking leaving Winterfell guarded only by women and cripples."

Her face fell. "Jaime—"

_The only one that sees me_

He looked up at her with a glare, belying the anger and sorrow that raged inside him. But seeing that he'd stung her, He hung his head, ashamed and despondent. "I'm sorry Brienne, I'm not…" he clenched his jaw, unable to bring the words to his mouth. He was afraid – afraid of what catastrophe could befall the capital with his brother there, afraid that Daenerys' madness might finally come to the forefront and destroy more than she intended, and afraid that Cersei might survive it all and live to see the north crushed. Without meeting her glance again, he stalked away leaving his wife clutching the letter.

She knew that look. She gave him his space and did not see him again until after her watch when she returned to their chamber late that night. She found him fully clothed save for his boots, asleep on top of the furs facing the wall, trembling and muttering. After removing her boots and outer layers, she walked around the bed and perched on the edge of it next to him, stroking his hair to try and rouse him from his dream.

"Jaime?"

"No" he shouted, still asleep. She leaned over him, shaking him lightly, but he only kept murmuring unintelligible syllables, his arms fidgeting. Concerned that he might injure himself, she pushed his sleeve up to unbuckle the golden hand, and the movement forced fuller words form him. "have to…plea…let…hrmmff…b….no." The golden hand hit the floor with a thud as she reached to grip his shoulders. "Don't…Brienne!"

Her name surprised her as much as it had startled him out of his nightmare, sitting straight up and gasping, brow sweaty, eyes wild. She held his shoulders tight, and he immediately grabbed at her waist pulling her to him. "You're real," he cried into her hair, "Thank the gods, you're here. We're…I'm here." She moved a hand up to rub the back of his head as if she could pull the nightmares out. He stroked her back, and then pulled his face away from her neck to look at her straight on. "I apologize…earlier, I—"

She brought her forehead to his, stilling him. "It's alright. We're all apprehensive over the news. You seem to be taking it on quite heavily, though."

He looked at her curiously.

"Your nightmare?"

"I dreamt that I left. I left you to go south. You were…crying. In the snow. But when I looked back you were…wounded." His eyes went to her side, and he moved his hand under her shirt as if expecting to pull it back sticky with her blood.

She stood, pulling him up with her. She helped him unbuckle his jacket and they untied each other's linens until they were bare and he was able to run his arm down her ribs to prove that she was whole. He followed her beneath the furs where she drew him into her arms and held him tightly, his head resting on her breast.

_That trusts me and believes me_

Several days of disparate schedules followed the arrival of Tyrion's report. Every night one of them would go to bed alone and wake up an hour before dawn to find the other climbing into the bed next to them, clutching at them for warmth. They would have half an hour together at most before the day started over.

Some mornings they would just lie there holding onto one another, existing until the sun chased their solitude away. Other mornings, they would reach for each other and find what little solace they could in each other's heat, but never having enough time or energy to love each other fully.

Their dawn parting was always painful.

_You are the only one_

After nearly a week of this, they finally engineered a way to steal a few hours together for an night by trading sentry and scouting shifts. At the top of their first evening together in weeks, Jaime joined Brienne in the hall for a late repast. He sat across the table from her, their legs entwining, and it was not ten minutes before they had to excuse themselves to the bemusement of their companions.

She was half undressed before she even reached their chamber, breathless as a girl and he nearly pushed her through the door, his hand going to her breeches immediately while she pulled his shirt nearly to pieces, "I feel like I haven't touched you in days."

"I've barely heard your voice save in my dreams. Gods, I need you." He kicked off his breeches while she unbuckled his hand.

"You dreamt of me again?"

"I always dream of you," he said, dragging his lips across her neck, his hand buried in her hair, "But when you're not with me they're not always dreams."

"The same nightmare, then?" Her hands scraped his back as his mouth went to her breasts

"I hope that's all it is."

She pulled his head up and kissed away his fears, shoved him down onto the bed and straddled him.

_The only one that knows me_

The next morning, two sets of wings alighted on the tower.

Word came from Dragonstone that the Mountain had executed Missandei – that much had been anticipated, at least by some. Jaime knew that mercy was not his sister's virtue.

But the rest of the tidings, written in Lord Varys' neat but spindly script, were grim. At the moment that Missandei had been killed, Cersei's armies had taken advantage of the distraction and attacked the small force that had been gathered before the gate, the majority of Daenerys and Jon's forces having been ordered behind to keep the appearance of a civil congress. Jon Snow had been badly injured, but was expected to recover. Jaime's brother was less fortunate. In the madness, Tyrion had been taken from under Daenerys' nose. If even still alive, he was now once again a prisoner of the mad queen.

Before this could sink in, the maester pulled out a second scroll. There'd been another raven, this one straight from King's Landing under a Lannister seal and directed to Jaime. Under the apprehensive stares of the northerners, Jaime gripped the edge of the table and glared at the maester. "Read it," he said, "I have no secrets from anyone here." Brienne snuck her fingers up his wrist and he immediately released his vise-like grip on the wood and tangled his fingers with hers. Sansa looked between the two of them and it struck her how strong they were together and for one another. Jaime had wronged her family in more ways than one, but he was no longer that man, of this she was certain. He loved Brienne, and he had stayed to help guard her home, and together that was enough for her.

_And in the dark you show me_

She plucked the scroll from the maester's hand and, to Jaime's surprise, dismissed everyone from the room, save the lovers.

Sansa pressed the note into Brienne's free hand, her eyes trained on Jaime. "She would not have sent it this way if she didn't intend to embarrass or weaken you in some fashion. I will not permit her cruelties to undermine the trust that you've built up here." She turned to the leave the room.

"Wait."

Sansa turned back to them, and saw that Jaime had broken the seal and then taken the letter from Brienne.

"Trust works both ways. Whatever is in this, you should hear. No matter what happens now, we are all facing the same enemy." He flattened the note on the table with his hand, pinning the curling paper with the golden one.

"The dragon usurper is at the gates. Come at once. Help me. Save me. I need you as I have never needed you before. I love you, I—" Jaime shook his head, "Rid yourself…" he looked at Brienne, his realization dawning – Cersei must know – "rid yourself of your…spotted cow, "he spat, "…Ride south to me and all will be forgiven. If—" his breath caught as he scanned the rest. He looked up at Brienne with angry tears welling in the corners of his eyes before he looked back to the scroll. "If the dragon flies over the walls, our brother's head will greet it from the top of the keep, and the wolves will—" he looked at Sansa, releasing the letter, "the wolves will join him. Come and see. Come at once."

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Halestorm's "Break In" (C) 2012.


	38. Book 4, Ch 3: The Plan

A raven was dispatched to Dragonstone immediately, relaying the contents of the mad queen's missive.

"I've promised aid, and I've cautioned against further action until it arrives," said Sansa to the room. Jaime and Brienne stood side by side, rejoined by Arya and Bran, Samwell, Tormund, Gendry and a handful of Stark men. "We don't have many soldiers left behind - some three hundred all told, but we can spare perhaps half to replace those who were lost. Lord Alten," she said turning to one of the bannermen in the corner, "I believe the majority of the fighting men are yours, is that so?"

"It is, my lady."

"And when could they be ready to march?"

"I think three days, my lady. The tents are still being mended, and some of the most able men are still without usable weapons."

"Very well," said Sansa, "please see to your men. I'll let you know when more decisions have been made." Lord Alten nodded and departed with his sons in tow.

"You'll need someone to lead them south," Samwell chimed after the men had left, "a leader. Almost all of these men were injured in the last battle and they need someone who will keep them marching toward the next one."

"Yes. And I believe it should be someone in this room." She gave Brienne a pointed glance, and Brienne's heart leapt into her throat.

Jaime knew that Tyrion had been aware of the risks before he'd set out. He'd known the dangers that lay ahead, and he'd bravely gone south anyway. Jaime would never go back to his sister, just as he would never be able to save his brother, but he could follow his example if it meant protecting the only person he had left - the one that mattered most. This could be the most foolhardy thing he would ever do, but he was through being idle.

Tormund stepped closer to the table, looking resolutely at Sansa, "I'll do'it. And I'll kill any bloody bastard who tries to desert."

Sam made a gentle but uncertain noise at the wildling's side, causing Tormund to look down at the little former crow with eyebrows raised to challenge him. "These soldiers need someone who can keep them in order, not just in line out of fear. And they'll need someone who knows the land - who's traveled it before. Many of these Stark men have never been south of Moat Cailin."

"Moat?"

"Exactly," came Sansa. "Tormund I thank you for volunteering - I know that Jon would have you there if possible. But your people need you here. And should Cersei's forces succeed, he would want you here defending the north."

Tormund grunted in assent and, stepping back, looked thoughtfully toward Jaime and Brienne, noting how the woman he had once pined for now looked sick to her stomach with worry.

"I'll go."

Brienne tensed at his side, "Jaime, you can't, she'll kill you."

He looked up into her eyes, those serene pools that of late had been so stormcast, "She might kill me, but she'd definitely kill you. It has to be me."

He broke from her eyes and turned to Sansa. Brienne panicked, tears springing to her eyes, and dug a hand into his arm as he turned from her. She couldn't stand to lose him now that they'd finally found one another. She still didn't know what had driven him to some of his most desperate actions and she feared that the loss of his brother would put him over that edge yet again.

Jaime met Sansa's gaze with all the courage he could muster and covered Brienne's hand with his. "I swore an oath to Ser Brienne, even before we were married, I swore that only she could command me. While I do not think it wise to deplete the northern forces further, even to aid Jon, it is all we can do. You will still need your protection here, but if Brienne will release me from that oath, then I will take up your banners and march south to Jon."

"Your brother is in jeopardy as well," Sansa replied gently. He is no longer my husband, but I do care for him. It's not only for Jon that I send these reinforcements.

He tightened his hold on the hand that gripped him. "She's probably killed him already, my lady. Jon is alive...Tyrion likely is not. I'm not going in order to bargain with Cersei, I'm going to ensure that she never sees the outside of the keep again."

"We'll both go," came her strained voice behind him.

"No!" Jaime shouted as he spun back to her, holding her wrist. "Lady Sansa must remain the north with her brother and sister. She needs you, they all do. We may not succeed in the south, and then you and the remaining forces will be the only thing left to protect them. You are their best chance for survival."

"I'm going south," came Arya's strange aloof voice from the corner, and they all turned to look at the hero of Winterfell, the strange young woman who was fiercer than anyone might have imagined. "I'm not meant to stay here." She looked up at Brienne, "I'll ride down the kingsroad with your husband. Our bannermen may respect him more with a Stark in their midst."

Sansa had long given up trying to tame her sister, so she nodded along with the others in quiet agreement.

"I'll go as well," came the low rumble of the new Lord of the Stormlands. "Once we're past the trident I'll ride ahead to Storm's End and rally what troops I can to the cause." He snuck a look in Arya's direction, then turned to Jaime. "I only know forging and fighting. I've never lead men into anything. But-"

"-But you can learn. Yes." Jaime forced Brienne to look at him. "If we fail, you could go to the free cities or - the wall, go beyond the wall," he urged with a glance towards Tormund. "Cersei's southern troops will never get to it without losses, and even with the breakage, the trek would be difficult for her armies. They'll be coming for Sansa - Cersei will not let her live. But by the time they reach the wall, it might not matter how many there are. You'll stand a fighting chance."

Tormund nodded. "With the last of these storms passed, it will be safe enough to travel. And once we get beyond the wall it would be hard on a southern army to find us, even in spring."

"I cannot abandon my home again," said Sansa behind him. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell."

"There will be," came Bran's spiritless assurance from beside the hearth. Bran looked at Jaime with a queer sort of smile that did nothing to put him at ease.

Sansa stepped toward Jaime and Brienne. "Would the rest of you please excuse us? Lord Gendry, I'll see that Lord Alten seeks you out."

"Thank you, Lady Sansa." He departed and the others filed out behind him, Samwell pushing Bran in front of him. Tormund was the last to leave. Before he closed the door he looked back to see Brienne's face crumbling in misery. He shook his head and closed the door behind him. Once they were gone, Sansa took Brienne's free hand in hers.

"Brienne, I know what is being asked of you now. And I am sorry for it. There does not appear to be another option. Will you release Ser Jaime from his oath and permit him to lead the army south?"

Brienne looked down at the girl, a woman who had experienced more than her fair share of pain and loss, and despite that, could not fathom what she was really asking. Jaime was so embedded in her soul now that this parting could ruin both of them. And yet she had no choice.

"No-"

Sansa was taken aback and Jaime clutched at his wife. "Brienne, don't-"

"-No, I will not release you from your oath. Please do not-I cannot. But I can command you to lead the army south for Sansa...and I command you to return to me when the fighting is ov-" her voice broke, and her knees suddenly felt as if they could not hold her any longer. She couldn't recall ever feeling so weak. Even with Locke's men, even at Harrenhal, she'd never felt so impotent.

"Thank you, Brienne," Sansa said quietly. Then, rallying, "Ser Jaime, please rejoin Lord Alten below when you can...Brienne, I will ask the master of arms to see to it that the two of you are not on duty for the remainder of his time here." She turned back to Jaime with a solemn but knowing glance, "You will need your strength."

She took them both in with all the pity in her heart, and left the room. Before the door had closed, Brienne fell to her knees with a cry, Jaime catching her under her arms and sinking to the ground with her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders desperately pressing him to her, her lips at his ear as his heart broke. "Swear to me, Jaime. Swear that you will come back, that you will not let her-"

He wound his hand in her hair and gently tugged her head back so that he could lay hold of her lips with his. The taste of his tears finally drew out her own and she wept into his mouth. He pressed his forehead to hers and snuck his arm between them to clasp her face. "You will be with me. In my heart, in my dreams."

"You know this is suicide."

"It's not. Know that I mean to live. That I promise you. It's not like before. I have every intention of living."

"And if you don't succeed? If she wins this? We could have been together instea-"

"It won't matter. I will find you, Brienne. As long as we live...and long thereafter. I will always find you." He brought his hand up higher to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. "Whenever you close your eyes, it will be me kissing these lids. And each time you wield your sword, I will strengthen your arm. Any time the wind combs through your hair, I'm reaching out to touch you. ...And any time someone manages to irritate you to the point of madness, you can be assured that I'm behind it."

She glared at him and he kissed her angry mouth and stroked her furrowed brow, every touch a promise and a prayer, until her tears had dried. And after he'd seen to Lord Alten's needs he returned to their chamber and continued his devotions.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Halestorm's "Break In" (C) 2012.


	39. Book 4, Ch 4: Stay

"What do you love most about your brother?"

"Why are we talking about him right now?" Jaime's lips moved up her neck.

"I want to know. I want..." she sighed as his mouth pulled at her skin, "I want to be able to remember."

He sat back and regarded her, his right arm stroking the curve of her ass, and up her hip. "His wit. He didn't always use it for good, but he had a sharp wit that could get him out of almost anything. Before that, he was an innocent once. He was my little brother and I loved him. Cersei didn't, and our father wouldn't, but I loved him. Myrcella and Tommen loved him, too. Though I wonder if that was because he was on their level." He smirked as she flicked water at him and he caught her hand.

"I'm serious."

"So am I." He kissed her damp knuckles and settled her hand on his shoulder before following a mass of water droplets with his fingers down her arm, dipping into the water to grip her thigh and encourage her to resume their activity. She leaned forward and kissed him, her hips moving in circles over him. Then she pressed into his shoulders and leaned back away from his hungry mouth as she rocked against him, driving him deeper into her as the water of the tub rose and fell with her. When she lifted up, her breasts would peek out of the water only to sink down again. He desperately wanted to take one of her nipples into his mouth to give her more pleasure, but restrained himself for fear that he would manage to drown before he'd seen her to completion one last time. He grunted her name as she rolled her hips against him.

The water sloshed faster and her moans were losing their rhythm. "Lean back further," he rasped, "I won't let you fall." She released his shoulders one at a time, moving her hands behind her in the water to his clasp his knees, and his hand braced her back. He knew from experience that this angle would throw her into a frenzy and, with his own end near, he had to act fast. She ground her hips into his with abandon and he took advantage of the new gap between their upper bodies to slide his marred wrist to where she needed it most.

When she came apart this time it was slower than all other times, as if she was purposely drawing it out to make the moment last as long as possible. It started in her core where he felt her tremble. The vibrations then expanded up and into her chest, convulsing in the water, her grip on his knees tightening. When it reached her throat and she called out his name it sounded like a wail of anguish. And when her eyes rolled back and he saw her entire body contract, he pulled her upright, her arms splashing water onto the stones as they flew up to his neck. He thrust up knowing that her walls were about to wring him to ecstasy, and he didn't want to drop her when that happened. With a final plunge he was crying her name into her chest, her body shuddering uncontrollably against his, his wrist glued to her nub where he could feel her heart pounding in synchrony with his as they shook in each other's arms, the water pulsing around them.

They had spent the last two days in their chamber, separating only when absolutely necessary. His body had been entwined with hers for hours as he counted the freckles on each shoulder and they found each and every diminutive scar on their bodies and kissed them away. She had melded with him incessantly, their need for each other never sated. They had laid claim to every part of each other's anatomy, memorizing every line - the ridge on his nose, the port wine stain hiding beneath her hair, the calluses on their hands and feet, and the taste of her sweat and the curve of his cock. But this was the first time he had felt completely spent inside of her, as if he had nothing more to give.

She dropped her hands to his chest and her head down fell onto his shoulder with a whimper and she proceeded the way she'd done ever since the plans had been made, and whispered her prayers to the seven, begging every one of them to keep him safe even as she struggled to catch her breath. Outside the locked bathhouse door, the sky had brightened, highlighting the cracks above and below. It was time.

"Brienne."

She clutched him, sucking in a breath, knowing what he was about to say. She lifted her head and met his eyes, shaking her head. He wrapped both arms around her middle and held her close.

"If I told you to stay here with me, would you?"

"Yes," He said without hesitation.

She swallowed, but didn't say the words. She brought her hands up to cup his face and kissed him gently, daring herself to skirt the flames of her unabating love for him. The kiss felt like a goodbye, the sweetest and most painful goodbye they'd ever had. She hated it, but she could not survive without it. He dragged his arms up her ribs and brought his hands up to her face, tucking wet tresses behind her ears, running his thumb along her lips one last time.

They slowly untangled their bodies and he climbed out of the tub. The Winterfell bathhouse was kept warm by the hot springs, but it was still winter outside and the air froze the water on his skin. As they'd planned, Brienne remained in the tub. She stayed submerged to her neck watching him don his layers. The hand would be the trickiest part, but he needed to reacclimate to doing that for himself again, so she watched as he fumbled and finally pulled the contraption together. It might have made her laugh to mis-buckle his jerkin twice if she weren't so outrageously glad that the mistakes were keeping him present with her longer.

Jaime did his best to clothe himself without looking back at the tub. They had agreed that he would dress and head straight for the yard. His saddlebags were already packed, and Alten's men would be ready to move just after dawn. She'd wanted to see him off, but he couldn't stand the thought of seeing her getting further away from him as had happened so many times already. By leaving the bathhouse before her, he could be assured that his last sight of her would be more intimate, and make for an easier separation. But as he strapped on his sword belt and donned his cloak he could feel those beautiful eyes dragging him back.

"If I kiss you again, I will wind up back in that tub."

"I know."

"Do you recall...remember when I forced you to spar with me that first time in King's Landing?"

"You dragged me, but you didn't force me."

He nodded. "That was so long ago. My feelings for you didn't make sense to me yet, but that was the first time that all of my introspections finally funneled into one seamless thought - I wanted to kiss you then," he said with an ache, "Your hair was in disarray from our fight and even though I'd finally bested you, your eyes were smiling. Instead of kissing you, I…" he flexed his hand, remembering.

She stood in the water and moved to the side closest to him. "You pressed my hand. And it was like…"

'Fire," they said in unison.

"I love you, Brienne. Don't-" he cut off her reply, "don't say it. I know it, but don't say it. Let it be the first thing I hear when I see you again." He unlocked the bathhouse door and, with a final glance at her watering eyes, he was gone, and Brienne let her tears fall into the water.

She waited a few minutes before she could be sure that he was away, and she climbed out of the tub. She donned her linens and a long quilted black wrap that made her appear both somewhat suitably dressed, as well as in mourning. Taking a deep breath, she exited the bathhouse and made for the east wing, crossing the yard on the side of the castle that was furthest from the stables, ensuring that she would not meet Jaime or any of those departing en route. But as she dipped out of the courtyard and into the hall, her thoughts taken up with whatever might be happening just outside the castle gates, she bumped headlong into the chest of Tormund Giantsbane.

"Ser!" he said with a clap on her shoulder. "Why are you not in the yard to say goodbye to your lover?"

Her face and throat turned red as she met the wildling's gaze. "My husband and I parted earlier. We thought it would be easier."

"Hrrmmph," he grunted knowingly, "And is it?"

"What?"

"Easier?"

"That's...he's well away now, and I'm making for my chamber, excuse me."

He kept his hand on her shoulder. "I mean no offense. I only wonder...why not go with him?"

"My place is with Lady Sansa. I swore my sword to her and I will protect her should danger come again to Winterfell," Brienne recited, her heart aching.

"Didn't you make vows with your man as well? The free folk say no vows, but all you southerners do, don't you?"

"Yes, we did. But those vows are not the only important ones." But they are the most important ones to me, she thought.

"So you would let your man go. It's not easy. I had a woman once, beyond the wall. When she went away, it was pure torture."

"Yes," she confessed, "parting with Jaime has never been easy."

"It hurts. Inside."

She thought of their previous partings - all the times she'd ridden or floated away from him - "Yes, as if...as if a part of me is being pulled away slowly and then ripped out."

"Like an axe."

"I...suppose that could be true."

"I could protect her, you know," the bearded man appeared to say almost slyly.

"...Your woman?"

Tormund let out a gravely laugh, throwing his head back, "No, lady. I believe that woman is dead. No I meant the she-wolf. I can protect her. And her strange brother. There will be other soldiers too. And the fat man - Sam - he was a crow before, he's not good, but he's not useless either."

Brienne gave him a puzzled look, something Tormund was all too familiar with.

"I will protect the little wolves. You should go protect your lion."

It finally dawned on Brienne that he was suggesting she go. Since being denied the first time, it hadn't occurred to Brienne to ride south with her husband. "Why...why would you have me do that? You've never liked him."

Tormund shrugged, "I've seen the way you look at each other. He's good for you. And he would do the same for you. If you tried to go without him, no one would be able to stop him."

"I can't...I can't forsake my oath to Lady Sansa."

"You're not. The wolves will be safe with me. The lion needs as many friends as he can get."

It was a risk going toward the capital. But if he was taking it, why shouldn't she? They'd spent so many years apart dismissing their feelings even when they were together, now that they had one another how could she allow a fear of Cersei to drive the miles between them. And that was it - if she stayed, it was another win for Cersei.

_It's perfectly reckless_

"I…" she furrowed her brow at the wildling, who looked like a child who'd just gotten his way at something. "I think you're right?" she said slowly, "I think I must go."

He clapped her shoulder again with a smile, "Good, good. Go gather your boots and sword. Your horse is waiting. I have another cloak you can wear."

"You...you were in my...you did what? How would you know that I-"

"I told you - you look at each other like starving dogs. Now go - hurry - the army will be leaving soon and we need to get you in the front so that your man doesn't see you and try to stop you. I had one of my men cause a distraction but we only have a few more minutes. Come to the side gate."

With a huff, Brienne ran down the hall until she reached her chamber. She kicked off the woolen slippers and pulled on stockings and riding boots. She looked about the chamber for signs of their life there, but most were gone, Jaime having taken his few belongings, and hers having been scooped up by the wildling. Her armor was nowhere to be found and that bothered her more than anything, but she had to trust that it had been taken with the rest. She pulled on her jerkin and settled her sword belt on her hip. Then she wrapped the long black cloak around her again, hiding the attire, and returned to the yard below.

Behind the smithy, Tormund was waiting with her horse, saddlebags packed with surprising efficiency, with everything that had been laid out on the tables in their room, and her clothes neatly bundled.

"My armor?"

The wildling grinned widely. "There is a barrel in one of the supply carts - the one with the rations - marked with a lion. My men said that's the worst of the piss so no one will think to break it open before you get to it." She grinned back at him and handed him her wrap. He traded it for a long slate grey hooded cape lined with wool which would repel rain, keep her warm, and hide her figure on the horse.

Before she mounted, Tormund handed her a long grey woolen shawl to wrap about her face and hair to keep her masked should the hood be blown back. She wrapped herself and climbed up, then reached down to put a hand on the wildling's shoulder. "I do not know how to thank you...what will you tell Lady Sansa?"

He shrugged, "Who do you think packed these bags?" He looked up at the balcony that overlooked the yard and Brienne followed his eyes to where Sansa stood watching over them with a knowing smirk. Brienne's mouth fell open, though no one would have seen it with the scarf now in place. Eyes wide, she turned back to Tormund who was grinning at her. "I never said it was me who was in your chamber. The wolf is smart. And she listens. When I told her that your mind would be elsewhere if you stayed, she agreed. Your man is only thinking to protect you. But you're better together, right?"

She looked back up to Sansa who was smiling down at her, and they nodded at one another. "Yes."

"Quickly," came Tormund's voice from below her. "You need to get moving. Go out this gate and then head around along the southern wall. I imagine you should be able to slip in now."

"Thank you."

He shrugged, "Go fight. Win. Don't make me bring these Starks north of the wall. The lady won't like it."

Brienne smirked beneath the scarf and urged her horse forward. She followed Tormund's instructions and when she reached the head of the pack she could see that one of the wildlings had picked a fight with some of the assembled soldiers and they had upset the formation by going to fisticuffs in the midst of all the bannermen. Jaime and Gendry had waded their horses to the center with Alten on foot and were just breaking up the fight. Brienne was able to sidle her horse into their ranks at the front without notice just before the order came to march the troops south.

As the ragtag army moved beyond the gates of Winterfell, Jaime chanced a glance back at the battlements but he knew she wouldn't be there. He turned his face to the mild breeze, a promise of spring. He whispered her name to the wind and marched south with the column which unbeknownst to him now had not one but two extra riders.

_Damn you leave me defenseless_

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Halestorm's "Break In" (C) 2012.


	40. Book 4, Ch 5: The Tent

Jaime was miserable. He fought the urge to ride back to her hourly. He'd never expected to be back on the road to King's Landing so soon, and never without Brienne. Bran had said they'd be stronger together - so long as the swords were together, he'd said. But how could either of them be safe anywhere near the capital with Cersei still in possession of it?

At night, alone in his tent, he dreamt of his wife. Lord Alten had supplied Jaime with his own furnishings including a cot big enough for two and, in the mornings he would wake, sensing that Brienne was there beside him, but just out of his reach, the scent of her seeming to linger wherever he went. A few days out from Winterfell, the nightmares returned - A sword slicing through his thigh as he bled out on a stone floor, Cersei's laughter ringing out. Tyrion's mirthless grin as his head was severed. Brienne collapsing against the Winterfell gates, a spear in her side.

Torture. Just like those first weeks after he'd sent her away from King's Landing, dreaming that Locke had found her, the bear's claws raking across her skin again and again. Or those months after news of the northern battle had arrived. Wine had dulled most of those nightmares, but he could still remember the first time he'd closed his eyes and seen her body trampled into the mud and riddled with arrows. It had kept him awake for three days afterward, until Bronn started seeing to it that Jaime slept between his drunken binges, lest he make good on his threats to pitch himself from the battlements.

On the road north she'd been with him in fits, often just the feel of her hand in the crook of his elbow or clasping his shoulder, but every time he would turn to hear what she wanted to say, she'd be gone, and he'd wake up exhausted, but determined to press on further and faster, willing himself to ride through the night to get to her before the dead could.

Traveling with companions this time alleviated some of his waking stress. Gendry and Arya didn't seem keen to speak to one another often, but with Jaime between them they'd all settled into a pattern of easy enough conversation and activity. At night, however, nothing could subdue the terrors, like both a mental and physical manifestation of his guilt. He would wake up with a strangled cry, her name always on his lips. But the air was cold with her absence. It was excruciating.

_So break in_

Brienne rode at the head of the column for over a week without issue, speaking to no one. At night she put up her tent far enough away from the others that she wouldn't be noticed, but she stayed close enough to still hear the chatter of the camp and keep from feeling too isolated. Every evening she would wash herself with heated water from her meager fire after the sounds of carousing had died down, then wrap herself in her cloak and lie on her bedroll in the dirt under the dark tent, missing the luxury of their clumpy uncomfortable straw mattress at Winterfell, and craving the easy comfort of rolling into her husband's arms for warmth. Winter still lingered so there wasn't much grass to be had, but at least she was not sleeping in drifts.

Gendry and Jaime paraded up and down the column thrice each day, as routine as a changing of the guard. He had slipped into command mode, instructing Gendry and overseeing the small company. But when he'd turn away from the men, he looked as dejected as she felt. Brienne kept to the middle of the pack while riding, and had to slouch with her shawl around her head, Oathkeeper strapped to her back so as to not give her away. It wasn't a comfortable position but it was necessary. Just a few more days, she thought. She needed to put just a little more distance between them and Winterfell, and then she could hold him and lose herself in him.

On the tenth day, she was confronted.

Arya has spotted the tall woman with her hood pulled tight sidling into the ranks on that first day, but she knew better than to get between the two knights. If she said nothing, Brienne might make it all the way to King's Landing without being discovered - if she stayed on her horse. Once Brienne was on foot, her disguise was much less convincing. So Arya kept an eye on her.

But then she spied Brienne's unmistakable figure sneaking about the supply carts at dawn that morning, lighting on a particular barrel and tapping on it before making sure it was repositioned into the dead center of the cart. Arya cocked a brow at her from a distance. Jaime was still donning his gear, and Gendry was watering his horse, so she knew she wouldn't be missed for a few minutes. She followed Brienne back to her tent and watched. The woman sat on a log beside her fire and scrubbed her face with her dry hands, pushing away her exhaustion.

"Not sleeping well either?"

Brienne started and jumped off the log in a crouch, reaching for Oathkeeper which she'd wrapped in her shawl and laid by the fire. "Arya…" she hissed. She looked around, making sure no one else was watching.

Arya had a curious smile on her face. Brienne looked at her, defeated.

"He can't know, Arya. Not yet."

"Your husband? He doesn't. Not yet. He spends too much time riding to the back of the column and looking longingly north to see what's happening at the head." Brienne sighed and sat back down. "...but he'll need to know soon."

"I had intended to wait a while longer."

"He's been having nightmares."

Brienne nodded. Jaime was prone to them, and she knew he'd often had nightmares when they were apart. "How do you know? Has he told you?"

The younger woman shrugged, "He wakes half the camp calling your name."

"How...how do you know it's that?" She asked, creeping up her register. Her husband was a passionate man - perhaps his vocalizing had been simply the result of seeking his pleasure for himself. Though the idea that he would call her name even in her absence ignited that fire in her belly that she tried to ignore. Arya raised a brow at her and looked at her head to toe. "He was at Winterfell with you for nearly two moons, Brienne. I imagine there are few who wouldn't know the difference."

Brienne blushed scarlet to her roots for the first time in weeks.

Arya chuckled at the blonde's discomfort. "It's alright, you weren't alone. The only reason no one heard me and Gendry is that we were in an outbuilding."

"Arya!"

"I think the hay on the armory floor probably dampened the sound a bit, too."

"Arya."

Arya smiled. "Have I made you feel less miserable?"

"Yes and no," she said, looking down at the weapon in her hand. "I still think it might be too soon."

"Three days," said Arya, turning to leave her. "We pass the Twins in two, then Riverrun. We'll make camp there for a night. Sansa wrote ahead to my uncle Edmure and he's expected to add some men to our cause."

"Arya, Jaime and your uncle—"

"I know. He mentioned...It was a time of war, Brienne," the diminutive Stark said, echoing Jaime, "...and allegiances change. My uncle will do it for Sansa. And if not," she shrugged, "I'll make him."

Brienne looked sidelong at the younger woman. "You frighten me sometimes, Arya."

The wolfling grinned and turned tail.

_Break in_

Arya had been correct. They made camp on the banks of the familiar fork as the sun set three days later.

Jaime removed his cape and hung it from the peg in the corner. Every day the air seemed a little warmer. If it kept up, Kings Landing would be like a furnace when they eventually arrived. He thought of Brienne, safely ensconced in the wintry chill of the north, and the hairs on his arms stood up on end as if he was being watched.

He spun around, half-hoping to see Brienne standing, framed in the light of the entryway as she'd been two years before; even if all she did was touch his shoulder again, even if he could only hold onto her arm while their tears fell silently, even if all she did was berate him for some damn idiotic thing he'd done, at least she would be there.

But the only shape in the entryway was the combined shadow of a bickering Gendry and Arya. Jaime rolled his eyes and moved to join them. They would cross the trident in a few days, and Gendry would be moving ahead to Storm's End. And then maybe there would be a little more peace and quiet in the ranks. He had grown to like the new lord of the Stormlands. He might not be a born leader, but he took criticism well, and he had a quick mind. He was an able thinker, except when it came to the youngest Stark girl. Their constant pattern of silence and squabbling reminded him of himself and Brienne - of those first few months on the road with him in chains. And he couldn't help but smile at that.

Brienne watched from the camp as Jaime left his tent with Arya and Gendry and rode off to meet Edmure at the castle gates. As soon as she was sure there was no one to observe her, she gathered up her saddlebags and stole into Jaime's tent to await his return.

* * *

"My men have been preparing," said Edmure in greeting to the party from Winterfell.

"When I last saw you," he said to Arya, "you were but an infant. But you have your father's look about you, and your mother's ferocity, if I understand your sister correctly."

Arya's eyes shone as she watched her nervous uncle skeptically.

"We'll only camp here for the night," started Jaime, "will you be ready to leave at dawn?"

Edmure turned his eyes to Jaime, looking him over. A few weeks ago, he would have liked nothing more than to push Jaime Lannister into the mud with his heel and make him beg for his life. But he would never breach guest right. And he knew better than to defy a call to aid the dragon queen.

"My men will be ready, Ser Jaime, but I won't be coming with you. My wife is near her time again, and she has little family left, save me."

Arya hid a dark chuckle in a cough that went unnoticed by the men.

"Very well," said Jaime, "tomorrow then."

"I would be glad to welcome you into Riverrun for the night, Ser. It's a large keep - I can have as many rooms prepared as you might require."

"No thank you, lord Edmure. I should stay with my men. We've still a long journey ahead. May the seven grant your wife an easy birth."

Edmure nodded at his would-be enemy.

"Might I explore the castle, my lord uncle," Arya asked too sweetly for Jaime's taste.

"Of course. My home is yours, Lady Arya."

For once, Arya did not retort at being called a lady.

"Come, Gendry. Let's head back. _Lady_ Arya can find her own way."

Arya smirked at Jaime and started wandering the corners of the hall.

Jaime and Gendry both offered Edmure a shallow bow, and made their way out of the hall. As Jaime walked away, his thoughts flew to Brienne again. She had taken her tea religiously and had begun to bleed the night before he left Winterfell - part of the reason they'd made their final overtures in the bathhouse. He knew he hadn't left a babe in her belly, but the reminder of his abandonment of her reopened a wound all the same - the torture of not knowing how she was faring today, at this moment, mixed with the cold comfort of her certain safety far from here.

When they returned to the camp, Gendry dismounted and offered to see to Jaime's horse, his breath mingling in the air with the visible snorts from his mare. Jaime gave the lordling a nod and wished him a good evening before retiring to his tent. He knew he should go and sup with some of the Stark men, but he was too consumed with his thoughts to make for good company. Gendry was a good lad - he would make all the necessary apologies and a show of good faith to the men while Jaime consorted with his ghosts.

The inside of the tent was dark save for a warm cast of firelight from one end where the men where dining and singing into the evening in the next tent. Jaime removed his armor slowly and hung it on the pegs. He fingered his sword, pressing his palm against the steel as if he could make her feel his touch through it. He stifled an angry sob and removed his boots, then his gold limb, and finally his linen shirt which he'd taken to leaving untied at the top without her around. He rubbed the dust from his face as he approached his cot, hot tears stinging his eyes as he sat on the edge. Finally his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he felt the loneliness of his empty tent crowd him.

Brienne laid in the dark barely breathing, her bags tucked under the cot. She'd thought that when he came in he might light a torch or candle and see her, but he hadn't. He'd only come in and stumbled through the dark until he was sitting where he was now - inches from her, painfully close. And she was afraid to startle him.

"I'm sorry," he said into the darkness. And for a moment she thought he knew she was there, but then he shook his head. "I sound like a madman talking to myself. But it feels like you're right here with me, like I could reach out and… I'm sorry, Brienne. I'm so sorry. I should have stayed. We could have had… I'm so sorry."

He settled himself down on the cot and pulled quilt over him. He'd gotten so used to the sensation that she was there with him, that he barely questioned the warmth of the bed.

But to Brienne the warmth of his body so close was like standing inside a hearth, and she could not go on not touching him any longer. She had to make him know that she was there. And she had a promise to keep.

"I love you, Jaime."

Jaime chuckled and the cot vibrated under him. He sighed at the dark tent before turning onto his back with his hand and wrist on his chest, eyes closed, muttering, "I miss her so much I'm beginning to hear her voice when I'm still awake."

Foolish man, how she loved him.

She reached over and slid her hand into his. His eyes flew open with a gasp. He stared at her fingers as if trying to understand their tangibility. He followed the length of her arm until he was staring into her oceanic depths. He whispered her name, and then he was on top of her, fingers laced with hers, pinning her arm over her head and crushing her mouth with his. When they finally broke to breathe, he released her hand, stroking down her arm until he reached her hair. He closed his eyes tightly. "Gods, if this is a dream...if this is one of my nightmares, let me wake before you steal her from me again.

She cupped his face with both hands. "It's no nightmare. I'm here. You never left me. You never left me behind. I've been riding with you this whole time. The longest two weeks of my life…I'm here, I'm safe." She kissed him earnestly, and he finally opened his eyes again, relishing the sight of his wife naked and wanton beneath him.

He pulled away to kiss down her neck, his hand dropping to her hip, squeezing as if trying to convince himself of her existence. "What of your oath? What of Sansa? Tell me you haven't forsaken your honor for me," he whispered to her heart.

"She sent me after you. And Tormund-"

His head shot up, "Tormund!"

"He helped," she said gently, kissing his furrowed brow and shifting her hips beneath him so that she could run her bare leg up and down the side of his breeches."We're stronger together, Jaime. They knew that. They sent me with you because they knew that we could protect each other… they made me realize that I couldn't let you face her alone." She cupped his face, "separating us is what Cersei would want. Why give it to her?"

He sighed into her neck, feeling his cock stirring against her impossibly soft thigh through his breeches. "Flaunting our marriage won't make her any less murderous...she won't give up." He dragged his lips across her scars, unable to not touch her, and then lowered his head to pull one of her taut nipples between his teeth.

She moaned as he bit down, his tongue teasing her, his hand creeping toward her center. "Neither will we...I won't let her win, Jaime." His fingers finally reached the juncture of her thighs. "Gods, I've missed you," she cried, arching her hips against has hand, the fabric between them coarse and wonderful against her skin.

She gripped his hair and forced him to pull his mouth away and look up at her. He stared up into her eyes hungrily. "Our first night together you told me...you wanted the whole of the north to know that I was yours."

Jaime felt a growl rising from his chest and he slid his fingers into her, reiterating his claim.

She moved her hands to his shoulders and rocked into him, meeting his thrusts. "I want Cersei to know that you are mine."

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Halestorm's "Break In" (C) 2012.


	41. Book 4, Ch 6: The Wind

A/N: Sorry/Not Sorry; Sorry I've been remiss in updating; Not Sorry, this is 98% smut.

* * *

_You let me fall apart without letting go_

Brienne had never been forward about her desires. She served at others' pleasure, and put her life on the line for others well before she considered her own needs, except when she was alone. Being with Jaime had changed that. From that first night when he had claimed her mouth, her cunt, her body, she had learned that being adamant about what she wanted often got her so much more.

Being without him in her bed for two weeks, without his lips on her, without him moaning her name into her throat, without feeling his heart beat in time with hers as they crashed over wave after wave together, had all wound her so tightly that now she was frantic against him. Imagine months, she thought, or forever… it might have killed her.

She'd been foolish to ever think to let him go off without her and leave her with this need. And now he was stroking that need with his entire body pressed against her. His barest touch mixed with the heady reintroduction of his scent and just the feel of his breath on her neck could make her come undone. And come undone, she did.

The moment he curled his fingers into her, heel of his hand colliding with her clit, she threw her head back against the cot with a long-held bellow, and flooded his palm.

Jaime threw the covers from her panting glistening body and twisted himself down until he was on his knees next to her, his hips near her chest, his head between her thighs. He licked at her, slaking his thirst, and then teasing her clit with his teeth while his nose teased her folds. Aftershocks caused her to buck against him even as she reached for his hips with her trembling hands. She pulled at the ties easily and pushed the breeches down over his hips and past his ass.

As she palmed his warm cock, he moaned and bit her thighs hard enough to leave marks, and fervently enough to make her feel the fire building again in her center. She wouldn't be able to reach his length with her mouth the way he was hovering just now, but she was able to kiss and nibble at his hip as she stroked him. He jerked in her hand and pulled her clit between his lips again, causing her to let go of his bobbing cock and dig her rough nails into his leg with one hand, the other threading through his hair and tugging him up. She could feel her molten center rising, threatening to erupt again.

"Inside me. I need you. Now."

Jaime lifted his head and twisted again, his mouth leading the charge up the expanse of her abdomen, her chest, and finally her neck, kissing and biting every inch of skin he passed. He shifted until he had covered her body with his again, straddling one of her legs, his cock hard against her hip. She looked into his eyes, all but begging him, but he didn't move to take her - he just watched her face as she panted against him, his fingers whispering down her ribs. She reached between them and stroked him again, watching his neck tense as he struggled to keep some semblance of control.

"Brienne…" he warned.

She arched against his thigh between hers, "Please, Jaime...too long..."

The thought of Edmure and his wife flashed through Jaime's mind painfully. He bent and kissed her but kept his body separated from hers. "We can't," he whispered against her lips, then pressed his face to her shoulder.

Her breath hitched and she gripped him tighter and dragged her nails through his scalp as she pulled his head down. She whimpered his name as he sucked on her collarbone.

"We can't risk it," he finally mumbled into her chest. "I can't get a child on you while we're still fighting this war." He kissed her neck and reached down to loosened her hand from his cock, lacing their fingers together and pinning her hand to her side "I could risk my life, and you might risk yours, I cannot stop you... but a child… I could not…"

Tears were forming in his eyes and she tried to kiss them away, squirming against him, still craving the feel of him, urging him to comprehend her physical retort. He pressed his forehead to hers with a deep breath and let her hand go to try and still her hips, and she moved to take her nails up his back..

"Brienne," he moaned against her neck, "this is torture..." he looked into her eyes, losing himself, desperately trying to make for the shore, "If I take you now, I will not be able to stop myself... we both know that if I had my way, I would fill you so full you'd be dripping with me on tomorrow's march."

Brienne's eyes darkened with lust and she pawed at his chest, "But Jaime—"

"—but we cannot…" he was shaking her head, but she cupped his face to stop him, nodding with a conspiratorial grin.

"Sansa packed my bags, Jaime. The Lady of Winterfell is very generous… she made certain that I would be well prepared when I next bedded my lord husband." He stared at her agape, and ravenous, Edmure gone from the frenzy of his mind. She traced his jaw with her fingers before lowering her hand to swipe down his neck, and follow the wiry trail from his chest to his cock. "I want you, Jaime," she whispered, her voice husky at his neck, kissing the hollows of his throat, "Every night. The tea won't last forever, so we'll need to… get creative… eventually," she raised one eyebrow before lowering her hand to grasp his cock again. When she gripped him, he felt his stomach twinge and he bent down to lick and then nip at her neck while she continued. "But for tonight… tonight I intend to have all of you."

He took her mouth with a growl, his teeth pulling at her lips almost painfully sending warning shivers down her gut once again. He removed her hand again, pinning it tightly to the cot again before pulling his mouth from hers. "Keep on like that, wife, and you'll make quick work of me…" he shook his head, "too quick. The lady of Winterfell wouldn't want you wasting her gifts." Brienne shuddered at his fierceness and felt her pulse racing in her very walls.

He bent his head low and licked the tender undersides of her small breasts, the smallest crease where her salt was sweetest, drawing out a mirthful sigh as he tickled her skin. Then, smiling up at her, "I've missed your smile… your laugh…" he stroked one of her nipples with his thumb as her hand moved to his hip, "I remember the first time I heard it… sparring in King's Landing. And then I went ages without hearing it again… thought I might never-" she brought a hand up to his face, stroking his cheek, and he turned into it, peppering her palm with his lips, then kissing and drawing her thumb into his mouth lightly.

"I've missed you, Jaime."

He leaned into her hand again, then lowered his head once more and teased her nipples with the flat of his tongue, then moved lower again, unable to get enough of her. He finished removing his breeches, then pushed her knees up over his shoulders and flicked his tongue against her nub before dipping it into her wet heat once, twice, again and again, watching her body jolt as he tasted her again, her fingers sinking into his hair. She forced herself to watch him as he drank from her, and the look in her eyes made him unbearably hard.

He pulled his mouth from her with a wet sound and began slowly dragging his tongue back upwards, his arms wrapped around her strong legs, sliding his shoulders up the backs of her thighs, and then her knees. By the time his mouth reached her ribs, she was looking at him curiously, hungrily, and breathing heavily as if she were sitting on a precipice above a churning sea - dangerous and inviting and considering the plunge. He was bending her nearly in half as he climbed back up her body, finally gaining his knees while the fine hairs on her calves brushed his shoulders. She felt exposed, open, and completely possessed by him in a way that before she'd only felt in her heart.

"If I were less honorable," he said, lowering his hand to settle the tip of his cock against her, "I would steal away with you this night… straight to Gulltown, we'd get on the first ship to Tarth… I never wanted either of us anywhere near King's Landing… I swore I'd never look back and now… Brienne..." The head of his cock was poised at her entrance.

She reached up and touched his face. "The second we tell ourselves that hope is lost, we'll believe it." She dropped her arms and pressed them against the cot, attempting to push her hips toward him, to bring him into her." And our enemies will know that we believe it—" she broke off with a cry as he rewarded her efforts by pushing the head of his cock past her lips and pulling back, just teasing her entrance. She hissed and met his eyes, "I have no interest in losing you, any more than I have in haunting you, which you know I will do if I die in thisohgodsJaime…" He was unsure whether she meant the war or the way she was now beginning to stretch around him as he pushed a little further into her. "I will haunt you, Jaime Lannister," she panted, "wherever you go, I'll be there."

With a jolt and a cry of her name, he sank into her to the hilt, his body pushing her legs down until she thought she would break, her tapered ankles almost touching behind his neck. She gasped, eyes wide, hands seeking purchase against him, then dropping desperately to grip the cot instead. He'd never been so deep inside her, she was sure. He threw his head back, gripping her legs with a fierceness she'd seen him express in the battlefield but rarely beheld in their bed, and then he moved. This was no gentle reunion. And she was too far beyond already to consider slowing him down.

He was driving so deep and at such a frantic pace, their bodies responding to one another with such incendiary familiarity that Brienne quickly cried her release, her screams, he thought in passing, were like to wake theTully dead, but his name in her mouth only made him pound her harder, his torso slapping her thighs with every stroke. He couldn't stop. He could watch her come apart and wring him to ecstasy, forever, he thought.

But when she started stroking her own nipples and her eyes met his with lowered lids, his rhythm faltered and he felt his body tensing as if she were commanding him to unburden himself of every painful thought and memory left in him. He pushed himself against her hard, head bent, and she hooked her ankles behind his neck. When he cried her name it was as if he was calling to her from across all of Westeros. He gripped her tight and thrust twice more, feeling her ripple and come again as he poured his being into her, his arms dripping to hold her hips. Her own ecstasy made her lose control of her legs and they slipped from his shoulders, splaying to his sides as he nearly dropped his weight onto her, covering her with his body while their hips continued to twist against one another.

They panted into each other's shoulder neither knowing nor caring how long they laid there slick with sweat and lust and love. His limbs were finally limp, all of his anxieties evaporating from his skin. Neither spoke. Neither needed to. They were precisely where they needed to be.

After a while Brienne dragged her fingers up his sides and into his hair, and the imagined she felt his cock stir ever so slightly inside her. She smirked and tugged his hair, picking up his lolling head, and grinned before kissing him, sliding her tongue into his mouth. He knew he should climb off of her but the gods themselves could not have made him leave her embrace just then. She pulled back from his mouth and caught his eye, searching, her hips shifting under his. This time his cock definitely stirred, and she smiled widely as if she could read his mind. "My turn."

She rolled him onto his back with a grunt, and kissed across his jaw, her teeth raking the skin just below his ear. He cupped her hip and urged her to grind against him, but instead she slowly lifted herself up, removing his cock from her, covered in them and bit her lip when she saw that he was no longer completely soft. She moved down his body, kissing his skin, dragging her nose along the planes of his torso. He could only moan her name to encourage her on.

"I miss the taste of you," she said with a whisper, reaching down to clasp him, sticky, "the taste of _us_." His hips twitched involuntarily and she smirked at him with her wide mouth before pulling him into it.

He threw his head back but then found the strength to prop himself on his elbows to watch her. He loved the feel of her tongue on him, recalling how curious she'd been in those first few nights about what pleased him. His answer of "you" had been met with a withering glance and she'd kept her eyes on him while her fingers explored his length. He'd encouraged her eagerness then. He loved the way she pulled her wide lips together over the base of his cock. He loved the way she smiled with those astonishing eyes of hers while swirling her tongue around him. He loved her. More than life, more even than this. He loved _her_.

His felt the ache in his belly, felt her tongue hardening him, molding him to her desire. Her own desire mounting again, Brienne slowly removed him from her mouth and smoothed her hands along his sides as she climbed back up his body, his hand lost in her hair. She kissed a path up his chest and then straddled him again, her nails scraping his belly as she lowered herself onto him again with a delicious sigh. The feeling of her surrounding him felt like something powerful and ancient and sacred. She was like a goddess bending the elements to her whims. He imagined it was she who caused the very wind to pick up and rustle the walls of the tent as she rode him.

He raised his hips to meet hers and soon she was chanting his name, cries that began as prayer and ended a curse. He reached up to grip one of her breasts with his hand, but she batted it away, leaning back and shifting the angle of her hips, meeting his gaze, "Not there, my lord."

His eyes seemed to glaze over. He knew what she meant, what she wanted. What only he could give her, what he had never sought to deny her. She loved a part of him that no one else could, and loved it well. "As you wish my lady." He smirked at her, then moved his right wrist down to where their bodies met. She ground against it and sped up her hips, and both threw their heads back with eyes closed as she tightened around him.

But just as suddenly as she'd changed pace, Brienne froze with a gasp of alarm and Jaime's eyes snapped open to search out the cause, and in the shadows and muted light from the other tents the vision before him made his blood run cold. A shadow stood a Brienne's back. One cold glove pinned her right arm behind her, the other held the flash of a blade flat against the cream and pink column of her throat, her free hand gripping the man's wrist.

"No!" Jaime met her eyes, her face and neck still flushed with passion but her eyes now held fear and anger mixed with embarrassment. She was strong enough that she could have knocked the man's hand from her throat, but the dagger and her position over Jaime made that too dangerous. He shook his head once, barely moving at all, then forced himself to tear his eyes from hers to confront their attacker. Jaime's face darkened and his anger threatened to overtake his fear. "Don't…" and when the dagger didn't move at all, he begged, almost, Brienne thought, smirking at the shadow, "please."

The shadow slowly dragged the flat of the cold steel across her neck before unceremoniously shoving Brienne forward. She scrambled off of Jaime and pulled the discarded quilt up to her chest and would have dove under the cot for her sword, but Jaime pulled her toward him, checking her skin for injuries, his thumb stroking her cheek reassuringly, trying to retain some of what they'd just been robbed of, then turned toward the foot of the bed, nudging his shoulder protectively in front of her. The shadow glowered at them, the face in the darkness slowly slipping into an amused smirk of realization, pointing at them, from one to the other.

"You blonde toffs finally figured out you had compatible parts between your honorable legs, and now it's more than just fuckin, innit? About bloody time. Who knew Brienne of fucking Tarth was so—"

Jaime cut him off, staring him down cooly, nostrils flaring, "—that's _Ser_ Brienne _Lannister_ of Tarth."

Bronn's eyebrows skyrocketed and he reeled back a few steps with a genuine laugh. "Oh-ho that is news. My congratulations, Sers. Seems you've been busy in the North. Sorry I missed the festivities - though from what I hear, you lot are lucky to be alive, eh?" The sellsword moved around the bed to stand over Jaime. Brienne took the opportunity to reach below them beneath the cloth, her hand frantically searching for the lion hilt that she know laid within reach. "Knighted, wooed and wed… never thought I'd see the day. Well, I'm glad for ya."

He clapped a hand to Jaime's shoulder, a look of inelegant but honest friendship crossing his face.

"Shame I hafta kill ya."

* * *

A/N: I do not own Game of Throne or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's Game of Thrones or George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire. Lyrics used are directly from Halestorm's "Break In" (C) 2012.


	42. Book 4, Ch 7: The Sellsword

**A/N: I'm so sorry that it's taken me a MONTH to update this story. I'm happy to report that I have the rest of the story at least sketched out now - there will be five more chapters...hopefully it won't take me five months to finish the story! Thank you all for your messages and comments, I love you I love you I love you. **

* * *

Everything appeared to move in slow-motion.

Maintaining a grip on her husband's arm, Brienne stretched her opposite arm down below the bed and finally grasped her sword. As she drags it up from beneath the quilt, she sees Jaime knocking Bronn's hand from his shoulder. The dagger in Bronn's other hand flashes through the air towards Jaime and he ducks, anchoring himself on Brienne's grasp, dealing Bronn a blow to his ribs as he turned back toward the bed. Brienne loosens her hand from Jaime's arm and unsheaths her sword with a hiss as she rises on her knees, the quilt falling from her body. But Bronn is quick. As he spins back to the bed he transfers the dagger to his dominant hand and in an instant is holding it against Jaime's throat even as he pulls a shortsword from his belt and meets Brienne's blow in the air.

Brienne freezes, easing slightly on the pressure of her sword against his.

"Calm down, milady...ser. If I was wanting to kill you, you'd have been dead a week ago when I picked you out of the column. You didn't seem to want anyone to know you were there - so they'd never know if I'd decided to take you out on the way south.

"You wouldn't have had the chance," speaks a voice from the darkness behind Bronn. Instantly, Bronn's sword has clattered to the ground and his dagger is nowhere to be seen. Bronn himself is suddenly on the ground moaning, "I think you broke my arm, you bitch!"

Brienne looks questioningly at Jaime who has gathered up Bronn's shortsword, and the two hold their blades tentatively in the air, squinting into the darkness. Finally they make out the figure - a woman, Brienne thinks…

"Arya?"

"He's been riding with us since Winterfell. I knew he wasn't one of our men - I recognize him from the Twins."

"The Twins?" says Jaime, slowly lowering the blade in his hand.

"After the siege of Riverrun. Your timing was impeccable, you know. I was able to enter the castle as a camp follower and stay as a serving girl until I was able to do my duty."

"Arya?" says Jaime, still uncertain, "You were there with the Freys?"

"I overheard your soldiers at the feast discussing their victory - how you had ordered that they take the castle as bloodlessly as possible - that you'd wanted the Blackfish to live."

Brienne slowly sat back on the bed, pressed against her husband.

"It's the only reason I didn't poison you and your men as well. Despite what old Walder said about Lannisters and Freys working together, my quarrel for the moment was with the Freys. After you and your men headed south again, I killed Walder and his sons. Then I freed my uncle and headed north again."

The figure moved further away, keeping an eye on Bronn splayed on the ground nursing a sprained wrist and a blow to the head. She pulls a flint from her pocket and strikes it, lighting a torch in the corner. In the light, Brienne pulls the quilt up her torso again and gasps as the girl turns around. She is about Arya's height and walks with the same fierceness as the young wolf, but that is not Arya's face.

Disparate recognition dawns on both Jaime and Brienne's face at once. Jaime's eyes go wide as he takes in the face of the girl from the feast at the Twins - the one that kept trying to catch his eye even as Bronn was trying to catch hers. He begins to raise the blade again, but Brienne grips his elbow.

"Who are you?" Jaime whispers.

"The faceless men," Brienne mutters unbelievingly, "Arya spent time-"

The figure removes her face to reveal that of Arya Stark. Jaime's eyes go even wider and he tries to inch back on the mattress. Brienne's lips curl into a hesitant smile and she sets the sword down at the side of the bed.

"What the FUCK is going on here!" cries Bronn from the ground.

"I knew he was one of yours, Ser Jaime. But when he never approached you on the march I knew something was amiss." She gives Brienne a look that borders on patronizing, "It was bad enough I wanted to keep an eye on you while you strayed far from the camp at night, but this one did too. At least with you I knew you wouldn't be planning an attack or something."

Jaime's head snapped back to look at Brienne. "She knew you were…"

Later," Brienne mutters, cupping his cheek.

"When we arrived today, I spotted him stealing away to the river. That's why-"

"-You asked your uncle if you could explore the castle...you knew Bronn was about-"

"-And I wanted to make sure he wasn't going to be a problem. But by the time I located him, he was leaving the warmth of the castle again. I'm glad I caught up when I did."

"I wouldn't exactly call the dungeons warm," moaned Bronn, "but it's better than sleeping on the ground."

Jaime threw a stormy look in Bronn's direction, then turned his eyes to the girl. "Thank you, Arya."

"Your wife may thank me. I didn't do it for you. She's the only Lannister I really like."

"Thank you," says Brienne quietly as Jaime dips his head in a nod.

"Anyone gonna thank me for not killing all of you in your sleep in the last fortnight?"

Jaime's eyes gleamed in the torchlight as he looked back toward Bronn. "I should ask Arya to kill you for how you touched my wife."

Brienne doesn't argue, but her grip on Jaime tightens. "Why are you here? Why are you trying to kill us at all?"

"It's only him I'm after… Your lord husband here - his sweet sister wants him dead. Him or his brother, but I've not been able to find that one. He's better at negotiations but he'd left with the dragon queen by the time I arrived in Winter Town." Bronn eyes Arya and sits up. Arya watches him but does not make a move to stop him. His weapons are long gone. "Ya see, I don't really want to kill anyone - not even this twat," Bronn gestures up at Jaime, who Brienne could feel tensing at her side. "I mean I would, I've killed many a man for less, but I didn't plan on actually killing anyone. I figured with Cersei in that keep about to get burned to bits she can't uphold her end of our bargain - but you or yer little brother could offer me something spectacular."

Brienne meets Jaime's bitter glance. She furrows his brow at him, and he nods. Brienne turns to Bronn. "Cersei already has Tyrion."

Bronn's face falls. "Damn. I like him, truly. Is that where you're all off to then? I knew we were headed for King's Landing but I wasn't sure - these northerners aren't exactly chatty…" He eyes Arya's dark unblinking eyes and looks away. "Shit."

"Ride with us." Brienne looks at her husband, furious and he takes her hand to soothe her. "We could use another sword," he turns back to Bronn, "and if Tyrion lives, he'd certainly be more equipped to offer you something than I would."

Bronn seems to chew on the idea for a moment, watching Brienne's face go pink and then red. He looks up at Jaime almost accusingly, "Nah, I don't like the idea of rushing to my death, that's your bit." He turns to Brienne, "You didn't see him, my lady...ser. He wanted to throw himself into the Blackwater when he thought you'd died." Brienne now tensed at Jaime's side and dug her fingers into his arm, staring at him willing him to look at her, but Jaime could only grit his teeth and glare at Bronn.

"Jaime?"

"And the first chance he got he tried to get himself killed by one of those dragons. Ran straight for the thing's mouth, all because he thought you were dead and you'd spoiled his plans to die in the arms of the woman he loved."

_I didn't want to escape_

_From the bricks that I laid down_

Brienne swallowed. She knew that Jaime had rushed the dragon. She knew that Bronn had saved him from being incinerated. She'd once asked him why he'd charged the dragon. And what had his answer been? _Desperation_. At the time she'd thought he meant over the war - she never imagined it had to do with her.

"It seems I owe you a debt of gratitude," she replied with distaste.

Bronn colored at that and looked down at his hands, rubbing the injured wrist. "I'm sorry for coming in that way." He looked back up at her. "Have to say I almost didn't recognize you there - who'd have known you were - he looked at her appraisingly, then looked to Jaime who was glowering at him. "You've got a good woman here."

Jaime goes to speak, but Brienne cuts him off. "As I said, I seem to owe you a debt. I am a Lannister now - I understand you expect to be paid." Jaime and Arya both turned to her with brows raised. "As distasteful as I find you, I will give you this choice - ride south and make yourself useful, or we can leave you in the Riverrun dungeons you enjoy so much. I'll not ask Arya to kill you where you sit. But neither can I guarantee that Edmure Tully will send food to your cell."

Arya looks at her with respect, tinged with disappointment.

Jaime can only look on her with awe.

"The choice is yours."

Bronn swallowed and his glance ticked from one to the next until returning to Brienne. "Much as I'd like to stay in the north somewhere til the fighting's done, I find my preference is not starvation. I will ride with you.

"Excellent. Though you shan't be riding with us, precisely."

Jaime turned to his wife, "What are you doing?"

Brienne turned to Jaime with a grin, "Making him useful."

"Arya - if you would, please escort Ser Bronn to his cell so that he can enjoy one more night in the north. And then please tell Lord Gendry that he'll have some company on the road in the morning. Ser Bronn, tomorrow we ride east to the Trident and the Kingsroad. You will ride south with the lord of Storm's End and a handful of Lord Edmure's men - take the mountain pass through to Tumbleton, and from there to the Kingswood until you reach the southern Kingsroad and ride for Storm's End. Lord Gendry is charged with raising men to join our fight. I trust that you will help the young lord persuade his men to send an army or ships north. If you succeed in this, then I have no doubt that you will be rewarded."

Bronn glares up at her but Brienne remains impassive. She watches his eyes move from her to Jaime, and back to her perhaps with an ounce more of respect than before.

Arya leans forward and stands Bronn up, holding his shortsword to his back as she nudges him to the entrance of the tent.

Bronn chances a look back at them as he reaches the flap. "You two are certainly suited for one another." He chuckles at Brienne's reddening face and allows Arya to lead him out of the tent.

Jaime lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding in. He turns to Brienne and cups her cheek, seeing that she's wary of him. "I thought…" his eyes are wild as he glances at her neck, "Are you alright?"

"Are you?"

He nods and pushes his forehead against hers, breathing her in. Her fingers move gingerly to his shoulder and she takes a deep breath.

"You thought I was dead."

He nods against her. "After Riverrun. The battle in the north. I thought… if only you'd stayed. If only you hadn't rowed away. If only I'd stopped you - you might be alive." He hangs his head, eyes gleaming, as Brienne strokes his hair. "Bronn kept me alive, almost as if he knew you were still out there somewhere, like he had more faith in your abilities than I did." Suddenly he seems to sag against her, wrapping both arms about her. "That's why I… I was drunk all the time and… the world seemed so dark and Cersei she... "

Brienne hushed him. "I know. I know. It's alright."

"Riding to the reach - all the death and mayhem - it cleared my head of Cersei. Everyone was dying around me. The dragon was burning hundreds of our bannerman and I thought - I thought - I thought I'm finally free of her. Free to choose the right path, to do what Brienne would have had me do ages ago...but Brienne is gone... let me die and be with her."

"Oh gods, Jaime."

He shakes his head, "I couldn't know...I didn't know that you were still - I told you that when I was sinking in the river all I could think of was you...that's because I thought I was finally going to be with you again." Brienne clutches him tightly as they kiss the tears from each other's faces.

"That day in the dragonpit - Bronn got to see you alive before I did. He was walking with Pod and I spotted them and I knew that you were alive. Bronn looked so pleased with himself, as if he'd known all along that you'd come back to me."

She sniffs and finally pulls her face away from his, fingering his jaw. "I will always ALWAYS come back to you, Jaime, be it here or after. In any case, live - for me. When given the choice, always choose to live."

_You are the only one_

He nods into her shoulder and then raises his head to meet here eyes. "Always." He kisses her gently, then stands up and puts the torch in the corner out. Climbing back onto the cot, he covers her body with his, kissing her deeply. And when they finally sleep in the few hours before the grey dawn, their limbs are tangled together, holding one another so tightly they'll be bruised at their joints in the morning, marked by their promise.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Halestorm's "Break In" (C) 2012.


	43. Book 4, Ch 8: Duskendale

They parted ways the next morning - Gendry, Bronn, and a Tully contingent heading south, the rest headed East toward the Trident. There'd been few enough words between Gendry and Arya before the separation, and it was clear that the young lord was feeling it more keenly than the girl, but as they rode the length of the Fork, Arya seemed sullen. Once they'd crossed the intersection of those churning rivers, the journey was easier, and Arya smiled into the breeze, anxious to see Jon.

The party rode harder and spared themselves a full camp construction more often as weather grew warmer, frequently unfurling the tent wrappings and laying bedrolls over them as an easy added layer of comfort while the diminutive army slept beneath the stars. On those nights, jaime and Brienne would couple as quietly as they could manage, moaning into each other's mouth as they laid on one side, Brienne's free leg hitched up over Jaime's hip. It was strange to love one another while wearing so much clothing, but Brienne did enjoy hearing the seams of Jaime's shirt tear bit by bit night after night when she'd pull him deeper.

As they rode south from Lord Harroway's town, Jaime looked wistfully to the west and turned to catch Brienne doing the same, blushing deeply as their eyes met, mirrored memories of the baths and bear going unspoken.

_The only one that sees me  
That trusts me and believes me_

They rode on, turning from the Kingsroad to ride for the Antlers and from thence to Duskendale.

Lord Edmure had sent a raven ahead to the Dun Fort to advise Jon of the supplemental army's approach. House Rykker had been loyal to Aerys, unlike the previous lords of Duskendale, though both the Darklyns and the Rykkers had managed to suffer at Tywin Lannister's hand. The present Lord Rykker had bent the knee to the dragon queen in the Reach and his lands were now surrounded on all sides by Jon and Daenerys' forces, a camp that sprawled from the Rosby road all the way to the horn where the Unsullied monitored the horizon for movement from the Iron Fleet.

The rains came when they were a day's ride from Duskendale almost, Jaime thought, as if the gods themselves were empathetic to his mood. The further south they got, the more anxious Jaime became. He knew that his wife sensed it, but Brienne never said the words. Instead she held him closer from dusk until dawn, taking her fill of him in the privacy of the tent, crying his name as the skies broke open yet again.

_You are the only one_

She wrote her love for him on his skin with her tongue, urging him to stay with her, to sink into her instead of despair at the thought of the tragedy that lay ahead, to live for her. And he in turn loved her deeply. He drank from her cunt as she knelt around his head, her mouth gripping his cock. When he felt himself about to release, he pulled her clit between his lips and sucked until she was flooding his mouth and he shouted his release into her depths. He loved her with every ounce of his being until morning when they set out on the final leg of their journey, the muddy roads drying as the sun rose from behind the castle that lay ahead.

Jon's scouts spotted them as they approached the rise that overlooked the Dun Fort, and a group of riders met them on the hill, dragon banners waving. A grin broke out over Arya's face as she cantered her mare ahead to greet the emissaries.

Jon himself rode with a painful grimace, a smile reaching his eyes at the sight of his kin. His leg was still healing from the attack at the gates but he had insisted on being part of the party. He was flanked by a pair each of northmen and Unsullied, and was joined by Ser Davos Seaworth and, to Brienne's delight, Podrick Payne carrying the banner. Brienne's smile on seeing her former squire whole made Jaime's own heart skip a beat just before he caught a glimpse of Jon's expression, just before that same heart sunk into his stomach.

Jon spurred his horse ahead of the group, Arya and Davos sticking to his side, and Jaime and Brienne pulled ahead together to meet them.

"Well met, Ser Jaime. Well met, Ser Brienne. I understand congratulations are in order."

Brienne nodded once with a glance at Arya, "Thank you, Lord Snow."

Davos shifted uncomfortably on his horse with a frown, but Jon seemed to silence him with half a glance. "We did not think to see you for another week at least. The roads were quite muddy when we first made our approach. But truth be told we've been watching for you since Lord Edmure sent the first raven."

"The first?" interrupted Brienne, "have there been more?"

"Only one, Ser Brienne," came Davos' gruff response, "to let us know that Lady Tully was safely delivered of a daughter called Cat."

The other four shared a quiet smile before Jaime's grin tightened, "I know he was anxious for her. I'm glad that some happiness is said to be had during these times." He looked to his wife, and she smiled at him with her bright blue eyes, her mouth remaining firm for the benefit of everyone else. But she could see the darkness brewing in Jaime's look, and she nudged her mare closer to him.

_The only one that knows me_

"Lord Snow - tell me now - has there been any word of my brother since Cersei's summons? Did Sansa's warning arrive in time for the queen to heed it?"

Davos and Jon exchanged a glance before Jon looked back at Jaime. "Your sister has sent more ravens…" Jon chanced a glance at Brienne, then looked back to Jaime, "We believe Lord Tyrion to still be alive, but-"

"-Your Grace, perhaps we should resume these conversations inside - we don't know-"

"-Your Grace?!" said Arya in disbelief, "Did you convince the queen to part with the north then? Or did she finally recognize your claim?"

Davos looked as if he wished he could have swallowed his own tongue and Jon shot Arya a condemning sidelong look. Then he turned back to Jaime and Brienne. The former's brow was drawn tightly, and the latter's eyes seemed shocked wide, looking between the three of them.

"What don't we know?" Brienne asked hesitantly, and she felt her husband put a steadying hand to her knee.

_And in the dark you show me_

Jon sighed and nudged his horse to spin around. "Come. The sun is almost set. Your rooms have been prepared in the Dun Fort and there's plenty of space for your troops to set up camp with their comrades." He gave Arya a stern glance. "We can discuss the rest over dinner." He spurred his horse; Arya gave the others a curious glance before following him down the hill.

Brienne turned her eyes to the Onion Knight. "Ser Davos?"

Davos swallowed, and turned his horse as well, watching Arya Stark and her cousin riding into Duskendale. Sighing, he looked back at the couple and straightened his back.

"The dragon queen is dead. Long live King Aegon Targaryen."

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Halestorm's "Break In" (C) 2012.


	44. Book 4, Ch 9: Plots

Davos left the bewildered arrivals in their chamber with a promise of answers over dinner in an hour.

The room and the one adjoining it weren't very large, but the tall windows, isolated against the winds of the bay, made it feel like home. When winter came, Brienne had thought she might never see the Narrow Sea again - seeing it now in the darkening dusk, heralded by the merest sliver of the moon, nearly made her giddy. As she stood at the window, vibrant violets shooting across the sky, she felt her husband's arms wrap around her middle, his chin coming to rest in the crook of her shoulder. They breathed the sea air in deeply, together, and for the first time in weeks truly relaxed against one another.

"It's the last night of the moon's cycle," she murmured, "the next few nights will be very dark."

Jaime kissed her neck, then pressed his lips mid-murmer against her the back of her shoulder blade. She covered his arms with hers, and stroked him gently, "What, Jaime?"

He freed his lips from her skin again. "You know the moon well."

She shrugged, "If I pay attention to the moon, I needn't count the days to plan for my courses."

"Ah - and what does this moon tell you?"

"That they'll likely begin in two days' time."

He hummed against her back. "I noticed our supply is running low."

The moon tea, Brienne thought. It was running low - not that the two of them always needed it given their general hunger for each other, but she was spoiled and the thought of ever going more than a day or two without him inside her again was physically painful. "It is. But the maesters say that this close to one's moonblood, it doesn't matter - I shouldn't need to use it for the next sennight. Perhaps by then we'll be able to get more - either here or in King's Landing.

"Perhaps the war will be over by then."

She turned in his arms and cupped his face with both hands. "You don't believe that, though."

He looked past her at the darkening sky, then met her gaze. "No… no I think we'll still be fighting. But as soon as it's over - the moment we're free - you can be rid of that vile stuff. If… if that is what you want." That funny little notch in her brow appeared as she squinted at him, and he lifted onto his toes to kiss it away. "It's your choice. I will defer to you. As long as I have you, I will want for nothing."

_It's perfectly reckless  
__Damn you leave me defenseless_

She kissed him then, slowly at first, then bit by bit their garments began to slide from shoulders and hips - far enough to give access but not far enough to be entirely salacious. And yet when he turned her and told her to brace herself against the window pane and pushed her back into in an arch right before sliding into her from behind, she felt wholly wanton.

It was one thing to have never imagined that she would see the sea again - it was quite another to ever have believed that she might get to see it and smell it and hear it while her husband fucked her so thoroughly that her toes curled. Her arms lost their strength as she came, and her chest pushed up against the glass, her nipples tightening against the frigid surface. Her arm flailed back, gripping Jaime's stump, all she could do to stay standing as her body shuddered.

As soon as she touched his arm, Jaime was lost. He grunted her name and moved his good hand to the stonework next to the window in an effort to keep from pounding her through the glass as he spent deep inside of her. They remained hunched together as he softened, kissing wordless syllables into her shoulders. Weak, she tilted her hips to release him and tried to straighten up, but Jaime clung to her. She slowly turned and ambled toward the bed with her breeches still at her knees, pulling Jaime along behind her. She dropped onto the bed, and pulled him down next to her. And there they lay spent and sated and panting until Podrick knocked to summon them for dinner.

* * *

"Poison?" Jaime paused with stew halfway from his dish to his mouth to ask this of the new king.

"Varys thought she was mad. At first she wouldn't eat but eventually-"

"-was she?"

"Was she what"

"Mad. I know you don't want to hear this, what with you apparently being blood and all, but Targaryens seem to own it more often than not."

Jon gritted his teeth, "You could say the same for Lannisters - their villainy is well-known."

Jaime speared some meat and brought it to his mouth with a grin, "The villainy I'll grant you - the madness is much less common."

Jon conceded. "She was upset. I believe that circumstances may have triggered something in her, but I truly think it may have been of the moment."

"She wanted me dead enough at Winterfell."

Brienne interrupted before either of them said something regretful, "And her men?"

Jon looked at her gratefully. "The Dothraki rode north along the coast. The Unsullied remain."

"They've not abandoned you?"

"Grey Worm thought Varys an instrument of Cersei. They stay to see that the queen's justice is carried out. And while he doesn't follow me, he knows that I was loyal to her - he will fight with us."

"And what of the dragon," asked Jaime, "we understood that Rhaegal was killed, but Drogon…?"

The reluctant king shook his head, "Drogon flew off - east. We've not seen him since. So in that way, your brother has been safe." Jaime gripped Brienne's hand under the table. She shifted and turned her palm to his, allowing her thumb to stroke the strained muscle beneath the soft skin between his thumb and forefinger.

"The dragon was keeping her armies at bay," Davos interjected with a glance toward Jaime, "and she doesn't strike me as a patient sort…she's still holding back and we think it's because she believes we still have one of the beasts. Instead she's employing… other options." He looked somewhat sympathetically at Brienne, then looked to his king for permission to continue. At his nod, Davos produced an unbound scroll from his cloak.

"She's marrying Euron Greyjoy, though it's unclear why exactly. The one bit of good news is that we managed to dispense with most of his men already. They took to pillaging Flea Bottom and, as you might imagine, the people didn't take kindly to that. So when we set fire to their ships and got them to come out into the open, the people revolted and, with some assistance from the Unsullied, the Iron fleet is at the bottom of the bay, save for one or two ships which we believe to be somewhat south of the capital even now with members of the Golden Company. Even so, she's marrying the bugger, and she's demanding that the lords and ladies of the seven kingdoms all come to bend the knee." He caught Jaime's eye, "We assume this is a trap."

"The wildfire," Arya whispered.

Davos cocked his head, "She wouldn't."

"Ser Davos," Jaime began, "believe me - she would. You were on the Blackwater - that was only part of Aerys' caches. The sept," Jaime swallowed thickly and Brienne pulled his hand to her lap, covering it with her other, "Qyburn found more of it, but no doubt he knows where the rest is stored. It's only a matter of time. Cersei wiped out the Tyrells and an entire religion at the Sept of Baelor, and she has remained unchecked since then. Where is the ceremony to be held?"

"In the Red Keep - the throne room, but if she's trying to keep the throne-"

Jaime looked grim. "She's very good at destroying the things she loves. She's always been that way. In the end, the keep might be destroyed but she won't be there. She'll kill the head of every house if it means maintaining her crown…"

"Varys poisoned the wrong queen," said Arya wryly, "does he live?"

Jon cleared his throat. "Grey Worm executed him. It is not the choice I would have made, but he was there on Dragonstone and I was laid up here - there was nothing to be done."

"And do the Unsullied follow you now?"

Jon looked almost startled to hear Brienne's voice, she'd been so silent. "They do as long as Grey Worm does - but even then, our remaining fleet is small, and our army is small. So must our tactics be. The Lannister armies now guard the Gate of the Gods and the Lion's Gate, and the Golden Company appears to be guarding the River Gate, though we believe them to be occupying a good portion of the Kingswood as well."

If that were true, Gendry's forces would run right into them, Brienne thought. She chanced a glance at Arya who seemed to be coming to the same conclusion. "Have we had word yet from Storm's End?" Jaime let go of Brienne's hand and reached for the scroll sitting in front of Davos, gripping it as he peered at its contents."

"Not yet, my lady," said Davos, watching Jaime's expression change from curiosity to rage, his hand shaking.

The scroll crunched. "This invitation is sent to Brienne - why?"

_So break in_

Davos took a breath and looked at both of them in turn. "It was sent to Winterfell and Lady Sansa sent it to us. We don't think Cersei is aware of your movements - at least, definitely not Ser Brienne's. The day you left Winterfell, my lady, one of the kitchen girls was caught sneaking into the rookery. The note they found on her would have betrayed your departure south - we don't know if Ser Jaime's plans were already betrayed. Lady Sansa dealt with the matter and we don't believe Cersei had any other spies in the north. She's still sending ravens there, addressed to both of you individually which, we believe, means that she is also unaware of your marriage."

Jaime reached for Brienne again and found her hand clammy, her anxiety raising its head. "Then why invite me? Without my marriage, I am only an heir."

All at the table paled when Davos produced another scroll. "We received three forwarded messages from Winterfell yesterday - an invitation to each of you, and this one." He tapped it against the table as if considering whether to hand it over or throw it into the fire. "I'm…" he looked to his king, but Jon only ticked his eyes in his direction, urging him to proceed. "Lady Brienne… we have no proof of the truth of her message - we cannot get scouts far enough South but-"

"-Tarth."

She said it so quietly that Jaime had to look up at her to confirm whether she had spoken at all. He could see the shadows of tears beginning to form in her eyes, but her resilience was stronger than her sorrow. She would not weep or show weakness here in the open.

"My lady," said Davos, finally pushing the scroll in her direction, "the letter suggests that Tarth had been raided by the Golden Company… and that… that the Evenstar had been executed for treason."

Brienne picked up the scroll and clutched it to her chest, her other hand slippery in Jaime's grasp. "How?"

Davos and Jon looked at her quizzically.

"Executed how?" she clarified.

Davos studied the table, "by hanging, my lady. Or so she says."

Brienne nodded.

Jaime suddenly peered at her, eyes wide, "If that's true-"

"then I am the Evenstar now, and…" she looked at Davos expectantly.

He nodded. "And that's why you're expected at the wedding."

* * *

The moment they reached their chamber, Brienne tore her clothes off. Jaime stood back and let her strom run its course. She hopped from one foot to the other removing her boots, cursing. She stripped her garments off muttering about their constriction, leaving only her smallclothes. While he stoked the fire, she took the basin of water that had been left on the sideboard and moved it to the table where she sat.

He watched curiously as she bent over it, pushing her hair back from her face and then, in a swift motion, plunged her face full into the water and screamed causing it to bubble around her head. Jaime set the poker down and crossed to her, reaching her as she pulled her head up, flipping her hair back and casting water across the small chamber.

_And take everything I have_

Her hands gripped the edge of the table as she panted, water catching on her eyelashes, dripping from the edge of her nose, and running down her neck past the border of the band at her chest. Jaime had stopped inches from her and was now hesitating, unsure of whether she would want him there, or if she preferred to grieve her father alone. He chose to loosen his tunic and sit in the other chair, his hand resting on the table, within reach of her.

They made eye contact, and the fierceness in her eyes mellowed. She looked at him, then down at the water, and her look turned sheepish. "I'm sorry if I startled you."

"You need never apologize."

She looked at his hand but didn't take it. Instead she released her grip on the able and rubbed her hands together soothingly in her lap. "When I was young - after my brother died - I was angry… a lot. My father seemed to not be able to even look at me, and I was often left alone or with my septa. She was awful. She hated me. Everything I did was wrong. Every word, every look, every action was wrong. Sometimes I would act out and she would…"

Brienne looked Jaime full in the face and shot out a hand to clasp his. He held her hand tightly, his eyes never leaving her face. "If it was a particularly bad day she would accuse me of acting out in order to upset my father. And as punishment she would drag me down to the bay kicking and screaming and grab my hair, and push my face into the water and hold me under until I stopped struggling."

_Until there is nothing left_

Jaime gripped her hand tighter and whispered her name as a tear slipped from her eye and followed the rivulets already running down her face and neck. "She could have killed you."

Brienne shrugged. "When I got big enough, she couldn't do it anymore. But by then the damage was done. And my father… I don't think he ever knew. All he knew was that when he hid himself away he had a disobedient daughter and when he showed himself again he had a meek beast he had to try and marry off."

Jaime let out a shuddering breath and gripped her hand tighter.

"He wasn't a cold man, but he was a dutiful man. I have not seen my father in many years," she said, a sad smile crossing her features, "not since before you and I met. The last time he wrote me at Winterfell, and that was before the dragon pit, he told me that he was feeling his age and he wished that I might come home. It was the first time he'd spoken only of seeing me, and not of reminding me of my duty as his heir. I will pray for his peace just as I will pray that Cersei is lying. But most of all, I will hope to make my father proud as his successor, whatever that might mean in this new world. Hope is an important asset. We cannot let her see us without it."

She let go of Jaime's hand to dry both of her cheeks, then caught sight of her reflection in the water. Her face seemed to glow in the firelight, pink and mottled from crying, but glowing. In the shifting water, she couldn't pick out the individual flaws that she had been cursed with, but she saw her eyes and for the first time she could almost imagine when Jaime had meant when he called them - and her - astonishing. She looked up at him, his face lined with worry as he studied her, and she smiled, widening it until he smiled back. "I love you, Jaime."

He opened his palm and she slipped her hand into his, his face beginning to crumble. "I love you, Brienne. I am sorry that this is happening. I'm sorry that I didn't stop her before-"

Brienne shook her head violently and climbed out of her chair, pulling herself toward him and sinking to her knees at his side, taking his face in her hands. "This is not your fault. You are not responsible for her. You do not owe me anything because of her. And you are not her, do you understand me? You are not your sister. You're better than her. Faint praise, maybe, I know," she said, trying the barest levity, "but you're better than her. You always have been. You have to remember that. You have to be strong - for me. For Tyrion. My father may be dead, but there is a chance that your brother still lives. If he does, we will recover him. And if he does not, I need you to remember that your life and your happiness do not hinge on any other person. Not on Tyrion, not on me. You have to live for you. Life is worth living no matter how hard. Swear to me that you will not go running to your death just because of this. Please, Jaime."

His glassy eyes met hers, and for a moment her oceans seemed to churn around him, and he felt buoyed up over the tides, lifted into the air. _Life is worth living_. He took her hand with his and kissed her knuckles and then pressed his chin to the top of her hand to hold her gaze. "I love you."

"And I love you."

"I live for you. I would die for you if necessary."

"Jaime I know, I would-"

"Nothing will ever change that," he said fiercely. "But I choose life. Our life. No matter what."

"No matter what," she murmured against his chest.

_Until it's just your voice in my head_

Brienne lifted her face to his and captured his lips. Before he knew it, his tunic was over his head and he was pressing her hips into the rug on the floor. But then when she reached for the ties on his breeches, he pushed himself to his knees and stood, holding out a hand to her. They were indoors and they had a real bed not stuffed with rotting rushes for the first time in their joint history, and he wasn't about to miss the opportunity to use it.

* * *

The sun had not yet risen when Brienne donned her robe and quietly left the room in search of her former squire. She found him in the training yard getting in some early exercise. She didn't stay long - just long enough to explain her plan. Pod readily agreed and said that the horses would be ready that night and Brienne reminded him to tell no one. She crept back to their chamber, removed her coat and climbed back in next to her husband.

An hour later, as the sun's first rays crawled across the water, Jaime stood and located his breeches and a long tunic. He closed the door quietly behind him and went in search of Podrick Payne. He found him in the training yard finishing up some early exercise. He didn't stay long, just long enough to ask Pod what he thought of a midnight mission to King's Landing, and to get his thoughts on how to approach the Keep - all things that Pod readily had solutions and suggestions for, leading Jaime to think that Podrick was really coming into his own.

Pod said, somewhat uncertainly, that the horses would be ready that night. He reminded Pod not to tell anyone and then headed back to their chamber. He climbed back into bed just as the first rays of sunshine hit the largest windows overlooking the ocean, highlighting Brienne's handprints from their lovemaking the day before. He rolled toward her and wrapped his arm around her middle, nestling into her shoulder and sank back into sleep.

When they woke up together an hour later they made love and then prepared for the day, neither one aware of the other's plot.

* * *

A/N: I do not own _Game of Throne_ or these characters; some dialogue may be taken verbatim from HBO's _Game of Thrones_ or George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Lyrics used are directly from Halestorm's "Break In" (C) 2012.


	45. Book 4, Ch 10: The Keep

That night, after making love to her husband and humming sweetly in his arms until she was sure that he would soon be out cold, Brienne extracted herself from his embrace. Sitting at the edge of the bed, she muttered that she was still quite awake and itching to move, so she would go outside and join Davos on watch for a spell. She donned breeches, a shirt, and her grey cloak. She needed nothing else, for Podrick already had possession of her armor and sword. She splashed some cool water from the basin onto her face, pinned her lengthening hair to the back of her neck, and stepped outside after one final glance at Jaime dozing peacefully.

_And when the lights come on_

Jaime listened for her footfalls moving away down the hallway. He opened one eye, and waited a minute, trying to visualize Brienne's path. She would go left, then up the stairs, then across the long corridor to where one could access the battlements facing the water. A letter from Gendry had finally arrived that morning announcing that a hundred men would march north through the Kingswood for the attack.

In their discussions with the king and Davos after receiving that news, the decision had been made to focus their efforts on destroying the rest of Cersei's naval support. By creating turmoil for the remaining ships, the members of the Golden Company in the Kingswood would be without refuge when the few available Stormlanders arrived.

But Jaime had already made his plans with Podrick - they would set out for King's Landing tonight, skirting the Iron Gate and making their way to the unguarded tunnels beneath the Red Keep. It was a rescue mission only. If Tyrion were no longer living then they would at least determine whether there were other prisoners to be rescued - soldiers from the North, Unsullied or even, if they were very lucky, a living Selwyn Tarth - anyone that they wouldn't wish to see buried at the base of the keep whenever Cersei decided to destroy it. But in truth Jaime thought the best they could hope for would be successfully returning in the morning and being berated by his wife. He had to come back.

_You see me as I am_

When he was certain that she was well away, he dragged himself from the bed. He pulled his clothes on and strapped his cloak across his shoulders. He needed nothing else for Podrick was already in possession of his armor and sword. He peeked out the door and down the hall, and then closed the door quietly behind him.

* * *

When Brienne arrived at the meeting spot just outside the camp, Podrick was already pacing. It was not yet midnight, yet the young man seemed frantic. When she said his name, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He nodded in greeting and then looked behind her as if expecting another person. She approached her horse and checked the straps on the saddle. "Are you alright, Pod?"

"My lady, it's just-"

"Podrick, please."

"I- I believe there's been some confusion, my lady ser."

Brienne drew her brows together. "What do you mean?"

"Well you see… you approached me this morning about riding to King's Landing. And when Arya came down not long after you-"

Brienne's head snapped up, "What?" Brienne looked about but didn't see the girl, and then she saw that there were not two, but three horses hitched to the tree.

"-I thought it was all the same mission. She knew what you were planning, and then when Ser-"

"-Is that who the third horse is for? What did Arya say?"

"She was to meet us but when I went for the horses this evening, one of them was missing and," he pulled parchment out of his cloak, "she'd left a note for you."

Brienne took the paper from Podrick. The letter was still sealed. She patted her horse's neck and sat at the base of the tree, tearing open the letter, but then she paused looking up at her former squire. "You said a horse was missing?"

"Yes, and the letter was in the stall instead."

Brienne looked at the horses. "But then why did you still collect three horses?"

"Well-"

"Pod. Who is the third horse for?"

At that moment, a low shout of greeting was raised up a few feet away. "Podrick! Are you ready? Wait, why did you bring a third horse?"

Brienne rolled her eyes with a groan and pushed herself up off the ground, her head and shoulders becoming visible over the back of her pale mare, and glared at her husband.

_You're still inside me_

Jaime froze, and then glared at Podrick. The night erupted in shouting.

After a few minutes, husband and wife had ceased their yelling and were poring over Arya's letter together hand-in-hand in the dim moonlight while Podrick sat sulking a few feet away, wishing he had simply remained abed that day. From their remarks, it seemed like it was about to be a very long night.

* * *

Arya had left the note and departed the camp following the mid-day meal with her companion. She would have gone alone, but she'd seen Sandor the day before and his impatience had been obvious. He'd ridden south with the army believing he'd have a chance to actually go to King's Landing but so far the troops had been relegated to waiting. So when she invited him along, she knew he would jump at the chance. She could technically carry out the plan alone, but having an ally was never a bad thing. And neither Brienne nor Jaime nor Podrick would be willing to go as far as she was hoping to go.

She parted with Clegane at the bottom of the Rosby Road. He continued south to skirt the walls of the keep until he reached the tunnels while she made her way to the Iron Gate. She had no problem at the gate, and her arrival was even announced at the Red Keep. The Queen was indisposed, but it mattered not - the Queen's Hand was more than happy to welcome Lord Petyr Baelish back to King's Landing in her stead with Ser Gregor at his side, exactly as Arya had hoped he would.

The stairs down to the dungeons below the Red Keep were dark but dry at least - better than Arya could have said for those at Riverrun, where all the stones had seemed slick. But not here, here her only concern was the giant looming presence of the Mountain following her as they descended.

When Qyburn had greeted her above, she played her part trying not to roll her eyes as she did, telling him the tragic tale of Baelish's imprisonment by the Starks, even after all he'd done to help fight back against the wights in the Long Night. The Targaryen usurper, Baelish said, was keeping him alive because of his connection to the Vale, but he was in chains every day. Only Ser Jaime had managed to see him as an ally, and had released him this very day on the condition that he risk his person to come here as an emissary on his behalf.

"The others don't know I've been released. Every moment I'm here is a risk to Ser Jaime." Ser Jaime, he explained, couldn't come himself because of his lover - if he tried to, the Maid of Tarth would follow him and likely cause trouble. He could only come once he knew that Cersei's men would put the beast down. When Qyburn questioned what kind of ally Ser Jaime was to not care for his ally's safety, Baelish assured him that it was the best he could hope for given the circumstances. Ser Jaime, he told Qyburn, sought two pieces of information - one, would the queen take him back and use her forces to fight back against his enemies? And two, did his brother yet live?

"Oh the imp is still alive. Barely, but alive. I've seen to that."

Thus it was that Arya found herself following Qyburn down the steps to the dungeons, with the Mountain not quite breathing down the back of Baelish's neck.

When they reached the bottom, it was dark, the only light coming from an open door down the long unguarded corridor of cells.

"No guards? That's odd, isn't it?"

"Not these days," chuckled Qyburn, "don't have much need for them. Prisoners rarely live long, and we have Ser Gregor to curb any undesirable activities." He paused at the second door. "The imp is here, we'll just need to retrieve the right key." He made his way to the open room with Baelish and Ser Gregor in tow, stopping halfway across the room. There were three bright candles burning in the corner, casting amber light across the rest of the room, but no warmth. Neither did the presence of Ser Gregor at her back, blocking the doorway, offer any warmth.

"I know," said Qyburn in a queer, exacting voice, "that Petyr Baelish is dead." Arya raised an eyebrow but did not move otherwise, her heart rate unchanged. Qyburn spun around. "This is some sort of glamour. Magic, my friend, is valuable. I do not know for what purpose you have truly come but, if you will share the secret of this trick with me, I shall see you escorted safely from the keep."

Baelish nodded, palms out. I will show you how the magic works but I warn you - when you use it yourself as you must when I show you, you will not appear as yourself - your voice, your height even will change. I recommend that you confine your friend," he said, gesturing behind to Ser Gregor, "else you may never return to yourself."

Qyburn's eyes widened in delight. The man seemed almost giddy as he nodded, "Yes, yes!" and pushed past Baelish, digging into his robe pockets for the keys which he'd already had on his person. Across the hall he opened the door to an empty cell and instructed Ser Gregor to enter. Once the beast was inside, Qyburn turned the lock and pocketed the keys again.

With little ceremony, Arya removed Baelish's face. Qyburn stood agape looking her up and down, and reaching out a hand for the face so that he could touch it and feel its magic. He looked over the edge of it, still astonished at the sight of the young woman. "Who are you?"

"I am no one, Lord Hand."

Qyburn smirked. "Do I just-"

Arya instructed him on the best way to hold the face in order to apply it, and watched as he pressed Petyr Baelish's skin to his own. She observed as his panic became obvious. The mask must have irritated him somehow for Qyburn began to poke at it to assess the source of an itch he couldn't identify. And then she saw that panic turn to terror when he realized he was completely blind, and she cut his shouts short, flicking the mask from his face and running his neck through with Needle before quickly removing his own face.

After the necessary cleansing was completed, she affixed Qyburn's face to her own and approached the cell across the hall.

"Ser Gregor."

The dead man looked up.

"Stand."

The dead man stood.

"...on one foot."

The dead man lifted his left foot, and kept still.

"Excellent. Put your foot back down."

He did.

"Henceforth, you only obey me. You no longer obey the queen. Nod if you understand me."

The dead man nodded.

"Very good. You may sit again."

He sat.

Arya removed the mask and went back to Qyburn's body. She removed his robe and shook out the keys, and made her way to Tyrion's cell. She turned the lock and opened the door. Tyrion opened one eye but barely moved at the sight of her.

"Can you walk?"

His eye roved down to his legs which appeared sore at best. "Nnnneh."

"Alright. You may need to wait, then. I can't carry you but Sandor could."

"Trrrr."

"What?"

His eye looked as far to his left as he could, and he weaky raised his hand to point in the direction of the wall to that side. "Terrrt," he tried to say more emphatically.

She looked at the wall and took a step back, realizing it was the one separating Tyrion's cell from the first one off the corridor. She narrowed her eyes at Tyrion, then moved to the first cell and opened the shutter on the door. "Oh. Maybe we needn't wait then." She found the right key and threw open the door.

* * *

Sandor Clegane was in a very special kind of hell. Three empty caches under the keep alone, he'd counted. That meant the stores had been moved elsewhere - likely other, hidden parts of the city. Finding it would take time they didn't have. Fire was bad enough, but the idea of green flame ready to burst under the streets at any moment was enough to make him run for the hills. Yet he didn't.

He'd been promised some level of revenge on this venture, and he meant to have it. Climbing up from the lower reaches of the Keep, he found himself somewhere just adjacent to the Tower of the Hand. There didn't seem to be many guards about, certainly different than it had been under Joffrey's reign. He silently crossed to the opposite hallway where he knew the steps to the dungeon lay. He heard one set of footsteps approaching and sank into the shadows to wait.

When Qyburn emerged, Sandor didn't move. The Hand looked from one end of the hall to the other, finally spotting Sandor, and raising an eyebrow. "Well?"

Sandor smirked. "Three, but empty."

Qyburn nodded.

"Lannister?"

Qyburn nodded again. "Knew of a trap door I didn't. Apparently had a boat planted in the tunnels before he was captured." She shrugged. "Setting off at moonfall."

"And my brother?"

"Contained."

Sandor grunted. "Let's get this over with then."

Qyburn nodded and turned to lead the way.

* * *

Euron Greyjoy did not react well to the news that his fleet had been destroyed. Or at least he wouldn't have if he'd lived long enough to hear that news. When Qyburn had entered the empty gallery of the throne room, Greyjoy had immediately sat up in his seat alongside the Iron Throne where the queen sat perched. Cersei's paranoia about usurpers had kept supplicants and sycophants alike out of the throne room for weeks. More often than not it was just the two of them and, sometimes, Ser Gregor or another guard.

"My Lord Hand!" Cersei shouted from the throne. She wore a black dress with a cinched red velvet overdress. Her hair was unbecomingly short, and she was propped languidly on the throne as if the blades embedded in it could do her no harm.

Qyburn stopped at the base of the dais and bowed. "My Queen. I'm afraid I bring distressing news."

Euron Greyjoy sat forward but Cersei simply blinked. "Lord Hand, where is Ser Gregor? We have been quite," she cast a sidelong glance at Euron, her face turning sour when she looked away from him, "unaccompanied today."

"He is in my lab, your highness. He required some additional…stitching."

Greyjoy sneered, "Never mind that, what news?"

"My lord, one of your men is at the gate. He indicated that there have been quite a few casualties. Your ships-"

Greyjoy stood and turned to Cersei. "I will see to this matter." She nodded. He bowed and made his way down the steps. "Take me to him then."

Qyburn looked to Cersei for approval, hesitation in his eyes. Cersei, through her wine-laden haze, managed to pick up on it.

"No. I have need of my Hand. Surely you can find the gate."

Euron grunted and sped to the rear of the chamber, pushing both doors open ahead of him so that they slammed closed behind him, leaving the queen with Qyburn. She leaned over to the small table to her left and refilled her goblet and, holding it to her lips, raised an eyebrow at the ex-maester. "Well?"

"My queen… the Golden Company has turned on us. They've burnt many of the Iron Fleet's ships."

"I don't understand. They were paid for."

"Yes, your grace. I believe they do not feel adequately compensated for the amount of time they've spent in our cause." Cersei downed her wine, her throat undulating with each gulp. "Your grace, if they join the northern and unsullied forces, they will outnumber the Lannister forces here in the capital."

The queen smirked. "That won't be a problem. Jaime will return. He will lead our forces to victory."

Qyburn moved up two steps, conspiratorially, "Your brother, your grace? Will the Lannister armies still obey him now that he betrayed you?"

Cersei let out a patient chuckle that grew into an open-mouthed cackle before beckoning Qyburn closer. "Jaime never betrayed me, you fool. He was scared. Weak. But the Lannister name is everything. They will always obey him. And he will always come back to me."

The doors at the end of the gallery opened again, and Cersei squinted at the figure who was lumbering very slowly. A grin crossed her face, "Ah Ser Gregor. Excellent."

"Will he always come back, your grace?"

Cersei looked up to see that Qyburn had moved up the final step to stand beside her. "Jaime? Yes of course." She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and looked back toward the approaching figure, and squinted again, her empty goblet clattering against the stone. "No."

She had already somehow turned paler than she already was from locking herself away indoors for so long. But now her hair seemed to stand on end, and then her mouth contorted in terror as Arya removed Qyburn's face.

Cersei sneers in recognition. "You."

Arya threw the face to the ground and removed Needle from the deep pocket of Qyburn's robe, watching Cersei's eyes dart between her and Hound.

"This is for my father."

Arya flicked the sword across Cersei's shoulder, drawing a dripping scarlet line across her skin. The queen cried out and reached for the nearly empty wine flagon and threw it at Arya's head. Arya dodged as Cersei stood and tried to move back behind the throne. But Arya followed her, sword arm calmly outstretched.

"This is for my mother."

She flicked the sword across the opposite shoulder. Cersei grabbed for the table that had been next to the throne and knocked it over in an attempt to trip the girl who stepped over it easily in pursuit of her as she moved down the stairs.

"This is for my brother!"

Arya shouted, swiping the blade across the top of Cersei's back, rending the fabric.

The queen gasped, arching her back and spun around panting, growling at the girl. "Jaime will come. He'll kill you and the rest of you pathetic family for touching me."

Arya twirled her weapon. "I don't think so."

"He loves me!" Cersei bellowed.

Still calm, Arya lowered her weapon slightly. "He'll have no time to avenge you, Cersei." Arya looked on the queen pitiably. "He'll be much too busy fucking his wife."

The queen screamed and lunged for the girl. Arya stepped back, misjudging her proximity to the bottom step. Her weapon flew from her hand with a clatter and Arya caught herself painfully on her elbows, just saving her head from striking the stone. But the queen was on her, clawing at her face. Arya could barely get one of her arms up to block the rest of her exposed skin, struggling to kick out, not finding solid purchase on any part of Cersei's person. She felt the desperate woman's hand in her hair, tugging her head forward. Arya jerked her knee up into the queen's stomach, but the woman was crazed, unrelenting, scoring Arya's cheek.

And then suddenly the attack halted and Arya was on her back against the steps. She must have hit her head a little bit when Cersei had released her, for the earth spun a bit, but when the images finally condensed into one she saw why the onslaught had stopped. The queen's face was turning blue, and two powerful hands were wrapped around her neck, squeezing the life out of her.

_You are the only one_

"And this," Sandor said, "this is for her." He looked past the dying queen's head to focus on Arya. She nodded weakly. He squeezed harder.

Something snapped.

* * *

When the sun had begun to go down, the queen made her way toward the main gate. She told the first guard she saw to summon any of her commanders who were within the walls of King's Landing to meet her in the central courtyard - the one that had been converted to a map of Westeros.

When the commanders arrived, the queen was wrapped in a black robe on the dais adjacent to the courtyard. There she remained while the three men bowed. Somewhere behind her, a figure in full armor stood perfectly still.

"My Lords," she greeted them, "we have received word that the Golden Company is no longer friendly to our cause. Any and all members are to be killed on sight. I want all of your men enlisted in this effort." Each of the men nodded as if they'd known all along that this was the way it would go.

"And one more thing - I have been rather ill of late. My brother Jaime will be returning to the capital soon. When he arrives, all direction will come from him. He will always do what is best for the Lannister cause. Do not question him."

The men bowed in acknowledgement and were dismissed. Once they'd gone, the Hound stepped forward, removing his helm. Arya removed the face of the dead queen, hissing in pain. "I can't tell if the pain is from the cuts on my face, or from this particular face being toxic. I'm not sure any amount of cleansing will make that one usable." She dipped her hands in the basin on the sideboard and patted her face, attempting to cool it. "I really don't want to put that one back on ever again."

"We've done everything we can."

"I certainly hope so." She removed her robes and sighed, dropping Cersei's face into her bag. "I'll meet you outside the Iron Gate."

"Nah, I'll meet you back at camp. Something I still have to do."

Arya looked up at him, uncertain. "He won't listen to you, you know. If you open that door-"

"I'll sort him out."

_The only one that sees me  
__That trusts me and believes me_

Arya bit her lip, but pulled Baelish's visage back out of the bag. "Good luck, Sandor." She slipped the mask on and made for the stables.


	46. Book 4, Ch 11: The Dawn

It had been 4 hours since they'd finished Arya's letter. Two hours longer than any of them had expected to wait. Arya was an efficient girl and had had a significant head-start. She had cautioned them in her letter to stay behind lest they cause disruptions in her plans or distract from her mission. She did not state as much in the missive, but Jaime and Brienne both knew that she meant to execute Cersei and put an end to this war. Neither of them would be able to give Cersei's reign the end they believed it deserved but, to each of them, at least the other was safe.

Brienne believed the girl would succeed but was not certain that Arya would be able to then get away from the capital without a Lannister contingent tailing her. Jaime, frightened as ever of his sister's ferocity, had vocalized aloud only a hope that Arya might return to them in one piece, and that perhaps Tyrion could be saved; but Brienne knew that his hopes and fears ran deeper, that he would would prefer to never need to enter the city, let alone come face to face with his cruel sister again.

_You are the only one  
__The only one that knows me_

Podrick's voice rang out in the darkness, alerting the sulking couple to a cloud of dust kicking up on the southern road, barely visible in the starlight. They stood as the rider approached, and Podrick began to visibly tremble at the sight of the spector and drew his sword.

Brienne clucked her tongue as he got closer. "Lady Arya, have you taken leave of your senses?"

Podrick stammered and squinted, and when Arya removed the visage of Petyr Baelish, Podrick turned and was sick into the side of the tree.

Jaime stepped forward and held the horse as Arya dismounted, eyeing the young woman carefully. "Is it done, then?"

Brienne stood just behind him, ready to receive him should he be stirred to emotion at Arya's reply, or any news she might have of his brother. But Arya looked quizzically past him at Brienne. "Have they not arrived yet?"

"Lady Arya, you are the first soul we've seen on this road all night."

"They wouldn't have-"

Jaime grew impatient. "Is it done? Did you kill her?"

Arya's expression grew wry. "The mission was successful. The queen told the Lannister army that she's been ill, and that you will be in command when you arrive at the city."

"How did you-"

"That's not important, Ser Jaime. All you need to know is that she will not trouble you," and looking at Brienne, "or anyone else ever again."

Jaime sagged slightly. Brienne placed her hand on his shoulder and he clasped it with a sigh.

_And in the dark you show me_

Arya ducked past them and broke into a run, headed toward the other side of the road, shouting "Come on, now, they can't have gotten lost!"

Brienne called after her, crying "Who, Arya?" before breaking into a jog herself, leaving Jaime to hobble the horse with the others before following, as Podrick was still beside himself.

_Yeah it's perfectly reckless_

Nearly half of an hour remained before the sun would appear over the horizon, but that did not stop the dawn breeze from rushing up over the tall grass from the sea as Arya descended the hill toward the Duskendale wharves with Brienne close behind, watching her steps over stones and molehills with only pinpricks of orangey light at the furthest ends of the sky.

Arya stopped when she reached the wooden planks at the edge of the grass, and turned her ear to the sea, listening for Brienne knew not what, or whom. Just as she reached the girl, Arya darted right leaving Brienne nearly out of breath and staggering in her wake.

"There!"

The girl was pointing at a spot nearly thirty yards from the shore, an inky blue void that seemed only distinguishable by the slight swirling aqueous sounds that it seemed to emit. The oranges of the sky tinged in yellow, turning the blank space nearly grey or green, but it was another minute before she could see why.

_Damn you leave me defenseless_

Jaime stood, still on the crest of the hill, looking down at his wife standing behind the girl, and watched as she fell noisily to her knees. He cried out her name and then followed the trajectory of Arya's extended arm with his eyes, a line that led to a small wooden vessel being rowed in shadow by a man with nearly the broadest shoulders he'd ever seen. He thought it to be Sandor Clegane whom he knew had ventured out to the capital with the girl, but as he ambled down the hill to his wife the sky became even more radiant, highlighting the man's white beard in yellow, and easing from the shadows the bearded bundle before him on the bench, with a weak hand outstretched in greeting.

_So break in_

When he reached Brienne, Jaime fell beside her and, kissing her temple, held her tight with his good arm. He looked past Arya at the men in the boat and raised his other hand in greeting, the growing golden sunrise glancing off of the gilded limb, a beacon for Sellwyn Tarth to row toward.

The elder Tarth had been rowing for nearly four hours, having waited at the mouth of the tunnels for the sliver of moon to drop beneath the horizon before pushing Tyrion and the boat out into the bay. Carrying Tyrion down through the trap door had been difficult after some weeks of the meager rations and meager space of a cramped dungeon cell. But the alternative - climbing back up into the castle to an unknown fate and unknown foes was decidedly the worst of their options for the Stark girl had all but guaranteed them that the Iron Fleet and the Golden Company would not pose any difficulty for them on the water.

When the Golden Company had arrived on Tarth, he had given himself up easily. Not out of weakness or lack of honor as some might perceive, but the opposite; it was the pragmatic choice. His people were fishermen and stonecutters - not organized troops. His best fighters, his only living child included, had gone off to fight for King Renly's cause some years before, and almost none had returned. She, he knew, had survived Renly's rise and fall. Somehow she had then been embroiled with thieves who had tried to trade her for riches that he did not possess. And yet she had lived. In her letters from the capital sometime after, she had professed that her salvation had come indeed not from him and his proffered gold but by the hand of a Lannister. Yet when last he'd heard from his daughter she was preparing to treat with that same man's sister, who was then deemed an enemy.

Sellwyn, on his quiet green isle, admitted to himself that he did not possess the mental stamina to keep up with these constant shifts of allegiance. And it had been many years since he himself had followed a banner into battle. When the Company arrived to "escort" him to King's Landing at Cersei Lannister's behest, he donned his cloak of Tarth colors and followed them without argument. He hoped he was making the right choice, if not for himself then for his daughter, and for their people.

He had known early on that his neighboring cell had contained the diminutive Lannister - they had spent some nights discussing at length in hushed tones through the wall not only the young lion's escape plans, but his knowledge of Sellwyn's daughter, Brienne. It was the hope of seeing her again that had strengthened his arms that night, that kept him rowing almost until dawn. When he spied the small group on the dock - the smaller Stark woman who had aided their escape, and the two kneeling but still larger silhouettes, he knew immediately that his choices had not been in vain. Tyrion and his brother waved to one another, the former quite weakly; Sellwyn did not break his stride when he noticed that the taller Lannister's other arm was wound around his daughter. He only smiled.

_Break in_

As they reached the end of the dock, Arya reached down to collect the rope he tossed her. He then moved to gather Tyrion up to lift him, but Tyrion shook his head, turning in his seat himself, taking in the large Evenstar, and bowed his head, attempting to mutter a thank you from his swollen mouth. Sellwyn grinned in the imminent sunlight and scooped the smaller man up, depositing him onto the dock, into Jaime and the newly-joined Podrick's waiting arms.

As they carried him to the grassy hill, Brienne knelt to offer her father assistance. Sellwyn took it, squeezing her fingers, and hoisted himself out of the boat. When his daughter rose again, he put his hands on her shoulders and stood back to look at her in the blue armor that matched her eyes which now watered with relief. As the sun crested over the horizon, it struck her beautifully. His daughter was radiant in a way that only love can make someone. With a hearty chuckle of freedom he cupped her face and pressed his forehead to hers, his long beard tickling her chin as it always had when she was a child. "My starfish."

"Father!" Brienne exclaimed and chided all at once.

"You're a fish no more, I suppose."

"I was never a fish, father."

"Bah. Even so. Now you shine brighter than any star. And Tyrion tells me you're a knight, no less. You're like the sun, Brienne."

The younger Tarth blushed across her nose, observing the whiteness of his beard. "And you glow like the moon, father."

"So I do. So I do. It has been an age."

Brienne smiled and squeezed her father's hands, and then turned to glance at the party in the grass. Podrick looked up from cleaning Tyrion's face and gave her a hopeful smile which she could not help but return, but her eyes sought out Jaime who was hovering worriedly over his brother. "Jaime?"

Her husband turned, distracted and weary, muttering as he crossed to her, moving to embrace her, "I think he'll be alright but he needs a maester. He-" as if suddenly remembering the presence of his unknowing good father, he froze and took a step back, his eyes darted between his wife and the older man, "My lord," he bowed, "thank you for seeing Tyrion to safety I-"

"Ser Jaime," the elder Tarth interrupted, "I owe you more than I could ever repay for the service you did my daughter in the past. Let us not dwell on debts, though I know from speaking to your brother that they are a subject the Lannisters are keen on," he added with a grin.

Jaime stuttered and cleared his throat, with a glance at Brienne, and turning back to Sellwyn, squinting in the sunlight, "My lord, I already have of you more than I have any right to ask." He kept his eyes on the man but reached his hand out to Brienne who clasped it and stepped closer to him. Sellwyn smiled at their embrace. "Let us be agreed then that there need never be favors or debts between family."

Jaime's jaw nearly dropped but Brienne only smiled radiantly back at her father, who sighed happily and then turned toward the hill. "You there, squire-" Jaime and Brienne both made to interrupt but Podrick answered readily as he always had with an eager "Yes, milord?"

"Are there horses nearby? We need to get this man to a maester."

"Yes milord, I'll fetch them down at once." And Podrick ran off up the hill.

"One of us should ride ahead and tell the King what has happened," said Jaime, "we'll need to get a raven off to the Stormlands, or perhaps a rider?"

"I'll tell Jon."

Arya's voice had come as if out of the ether and they all looked around until they spied her, already astride her horse, up on the hill. "I'll ride ahead. Ser Jaime you need to prepare for your arrival in the capital. Your armies are expecting you. And we have much yet to do." And she was gone.

Sellwyn stared after her. "Strange woman."

A muffled but affirmative sound came from the aching Tyrion at their feet as the sun rose higher on the new world.


End file.
